


Minho's Boy

by grandsequel (Yunho)



Category: K-pop, SHINee
Genre: M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunho/pseuds/grandsequel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minho's a superstar who, while on vacation, meets Taemin - a mermaid. Both their lives are about to get very interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fish Tails

The water glistens like droplets of sweat from his back as the boat splashes uncaringly across the sea. The sun beats down on him with contempt and Minho has to raise his hand to his eyes and squint just to look across the vast expanse of water. But as he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, taking in the salty sea air and the familiar scent of giddy anticipation, Minho can’t seem to muster the energy to care. 

He was there to relax, to enjoy himself. As his manager claims, he needs a break from rehearsals and music performances and variety shows and interviews and just everything that comes along with being a famous Korean entertainer. So here he is, set out on an enormous lake that, from where he cruised, has no beginning and no end. It’s just him and the boat and the water. It feels good, this unfamiliar solitude.

He spends nearly two hours leisurely floating, not bothering to sail the boat any farther across the lake. He’s perfectly happy to lay on the boat deck in nothing but a pair of short swimming trunks, soaking up the sunlight and letting his already tan skin turn an even richer gold in color. He isn’t there to be productive, that much is for certain.

As he lays there, eyes closed and hanging somewhere between sleep and dim awareness, he suddenly hears a low _thud_ against the side of the boat. There aren’t any rocks and he definitely didn’t just hit the shore…

He has no idea what it is, but before he can choose to ignore it, he hears it again, only this time the _thump_ is followed by a high pitched squeal. 

Unable to curb his curiosity, Minho sits up gingerly and looks around for a moment in all directions to see if he can gauge what could possibly be hitting the side of his boat. When he still sees nothing, he stands and slowly, almost cautiously, makes his way to the edge of the boat.

He looks over the side and, failing to see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, turns around again. He’s about to walk back to his towel laid out on the deck when he hears the sound again. This time he spins around and quickly makes his way to peer over the edge of the boat, looking down. He knows he heard _something_ , now he just has to find it.

He sees a shape in the water, dark and murky, and wonders for a second if maybe something fell off over the side. He doesn’t expect the dark shape to suddenly pop out of the water, so when it does, revealing a boy’s brightly grinning head, he jumps back and—well, later he’ll completely deny it—cries out in shock. 

“What the fuck?!” 

He takes four steps back and stops, breathing hard. Cautiously, he walks back to the railing, almost hoping he’d imagined the smiling face. Unfortunately, he sees that he hadn’t.

“ _Chyaaaah!_ ”

Minho stands shell shocked, staring down at a boy in the water. He looks no older than 16, strands of shining brown hair plastered to his head from the salty water. He stares back at Minho, releasing unusually high squeals every now and then, his face frowning. 

Minho has no idea what’s going on, but he realizes he can’t just leave the kid in the water.

“Hey!” he interrupts the boy during one his squeals. The boy immediately silences, staring up at Minho with curiosity in his eyes. For a second Minho can’t help but think how adorable the boy looks, but quickly shakes his head and pushes the thought away. “Are you okay? Where’s your boat?”

The boy stares at him and from the glazed look on his face, it’s clear he has no idea what Minho is saying. Minho sighs, feeling awkward. “ _Where you…b-boat?_ ” he asks. He winces at his horrendous attempt at English, thinking the boy to possibly be foreign.

But the boy clearly doesn’t speak English either, because his face still looks just as puzzled. _Shit, now what?_ he thinks to himself.

One thing is for certain—he can’t just leave the kid in the water. _Even if he does look comfortable enough_. He crouches down and slowly, so as not to startle the boy, reaches his hand out toward the water. He holds onto the edge of the boat, making sure he doesn’t accidentally fall into the lake.

He’s surprised when the boy immediately latches onto his hand, no indication of hesitation in his grip. He’d almost expected him to be weary of a complete stranger reaching out to him, but Minho’s glad nonetheless that the boy isn’t showing any fear. 

Minho tightens his hand and locks his knees, shifting his weight to his heels and leaning back as he tries to haul the boy up. The other isn’t expecting such a move and lets out another shrill screech, trying to free his hand from Minho’s grip. Minho’s too strong for him though, quickly adding his other hand to give him more leverage.

The boat isn’t very big to begin with and so it rocks precariously in the water as Minho works to bring the boy aboard. Suddenly, he falls back, instinctually grabbing the boy around the shoulders as he slips aboard unresistingly.

Minho lies on his back for a second with his eyes closed and breathing hard, a warm—and wet—weight on his chest. When he opens his eyes and looks down, the first thing he notices is how close his face is to the other boy’s; close enough for him to see the sparkling droplets of moisture on his eyelashes. The boy, who had his eyes closed too, slowly opens them and for a split second they both lay there unmoving, looking into each other’s eyes.

And that’s when something catches Minho’s eye. It’s long, sparkling, and… _red_?

“Holy— _what the fuck_?!” Minho shouts for a second time. He drops the boy abruptly and scoots backward as quickly as he can. The boy’s slim body collides with the hard deck of the boat and Minho watches as his face scrunches up before breaking out into a cry.

Minho panics; he’s never had to deal with crying children before. He realizes he should go back over to the boy and try to comfort him but Minho is still stuck on the fact that the boy has a tail. And not just a long, thin tail like a cat or dog’s; it’s a _fish_ tail.

_I must be going crazy, that’s the only explanation. There is no way I’m staring at a merboy crying on my boat._

Five seconds later and Minho can’t bear the boy’s heart-wrenching crying any longer. He crawls cautiously back, almost afraid to touch him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice deep and soothing. The boy’s only response is to continue his cries. He has no shirt on, his skin not as dark as Minho’s but still slightly tan. Minho realizes how awkward this is about to get but pushes aside his feelings of discomfort. He slowly leans forward and reaches out, wrapping his arm around the boy’s thin, bony shoulders. He gathers him close, trying to hide his shock as the boy immediately latches onto him like a leech. His arms sling around Minho’s back and he buries his face into Minho’s neck.

Minho can’t help but notice how warm the boy is in his arms. His eyes travel down the curve of the boy’s back, down to his… _tail_.

It’s a deep, shiny rustic color. It looks almost exactly like the tail of a fish, small scales covering its entire length until the forked end, which looks more like supple velvet and is a lighter pink in color. The scales glisten in the sunlight like a thousand tiny pieces of broken scarlet glass. It looks so soft, and as the boy’s crying dies down to mere hiccups, Minho can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch the scales, to feel them beneath his finger tips.

The moment he runs his quivering hand along the tail, his touch as soft as a sigh upon his lips, the boy immediately stiffens but makes no move to pull away. Suddenly emboldened, Minho lays his entire hand on the boys tail, where his rear end would have been had he been a normal human boy. His touch turns from a light brush to a gentle caress. When the boy suddenly moans, Minho jerks his hand back, as though burned. He feels his face flush, realizing what he’s done.

_I just felt up a fishboy…dear lord, I must be going out of my mind._

He pulls back and stares at the boy. His eyes are red from crying but he still looks so angelic, so _innocent_. Being in the business he’s in, Minho hasn’t seen such innocence in so long he’s almost forgotten what it looks like. The boy’s eyes are wide, questioning, the gentle sweep of his nose leaning over full lips, his cheeks tinged slightly pink.

He’s mesmerized by the boy’s cherubic face, but Minho shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He has no idea what just came over him, but he won’t dwell on it just yet.

With the hand not holding onto the boy, Minho points to himself. “Minho,” he says carefully. The boy looks confused again for a second. He looks down at Minho’s hand and suddenly his face clears, breaking into another smile. He grabs the hand that Minho had been using to point to himself and presses it against his own chest.

“Tae-min,” he announces, voice clear, smiling brightly. Minho can’t help but smile back, entranced. He removes his hand from Taemin’s hold and points behind him, at his tail.

“Fish?” Taemin’s face scrunches up adorably in confusion, and Minho chuckles. He uses his hand and makes a motion like a fish swimming, repeating again questioningly, “Fish?”

Taemin evidently understands, shaking his head no. He takes Minho’s hand again and holds it to Minho’s chest, right above where his heart is. With his other hand, he mimics Minho’s previous motion. “Taemin,” he repeats.

Minho isn’t sure what exactly he means by it, but for someone reason Taemin’s gesture warms something in his chest. It’s like Taemin is showing him he’s like Minho _and_ like how Minho sees him—as part fish. The poetry behind his motions leaves Minho almost breathless.

Taemin is unaware of the effect he’s having on the larger boy. He’s already distracted by the gold necklace dangling around Minho’s neck, taking it between his thin fingers and rolling the chain almost lovingly through his hand. So focused on the the jewelry, he doesn’t notice Minho’s soft gaze on him.

When the necklace loses its appeal, Taemin, without a care in the world, folds himself against Minho once more, ear pressed against the larger boy’s chest right above his heart. The soft thumping of his heartbeat relaxes him, and when Minho’s hand finds its way into Taemin’s wet locks and he cards his fingers through the hair, he closes his eyes and relaxes into the embrace.

Minho doesn’t care anymore about how ridiculous this is. With Taemin snuggled up to him, he decides carelessly that he’ll worry about what the hell is going on later. For right now, he enjoys the unbelievable company of his little merboy.


	2. Moonlight

It takes Minho nearly 40 minutes to drive from his loft back to the lake. It’s 7pm when he parks his car by the side of the road and gets out, the stifling summer heat immediately hitting his face, as though he’s just walked into a sauna.   
  
The sun peaks out from behind an economy of clouds, its pink and purple twilight rays casting the path Minho embarks to the harbor in a violet light. He regrets wearing flipflops as small rocks and patches of dead grass get stuck painfully in his shoes. Despite his discomfort he trudges on, to make it back to the lake.  
  
A week has passed since Minho’s experience with the small merboy and in that time, he couldn’t stop thinking about him; Taemin. He can’t get him out of his head and in a spur of the of the moment decision, Minho had set out in his car and drove himself back to where he first met Taemin.  
  
When he finds himself standing before the lake, its water top twinkling like a thousand forgiving candles in the moonlight, Minho takes a moment to admire its expanse. He breathes in deeply and for a second, it’s like breathing in the very lake, the air tinged with that tangy freshness and hint of pine that could only ever be found where he is.  
  
As he looks around, the harbor deck several feet away and the entire lakeside deserted aside from him, he has a moment of feeling foolish. He’d lied to his manager and snuck away from his warm, cozy and  _safe_  loft in the city just so he could run away to…What? Find some merboy he met a week ago?  
  
He rolls his eyes, the gesture gone unnoticed with no one there to direct it to aside from the dark. He realizes this is one of his more idiotic ideas even as he remains standing at the edge of the lake, arms crossed carelessly over his chest.  
  
The problem is the he just hadn’t been able to get the boy out of his head. Taemin…The name fits; simple and cute, just like the boy himself. Minho is convinced that if he could just see the boy one last time, his aching curiosity would be appeased and he’d be able to put the little merboy from his mind permanently.   
  
He’s torn from his silent musings by the sound of a splash. Just as before, the sudden noise startles him and he cups his hand over his eyes to peer across the now darkening lake.  
  
“What the hell?” he can’t help but exclaim as he steps backward.  
  
There’s a violent array of splashing in the water, only a few feet from where he’s standing. Though he’s suddenly nervous, Minho takes a step forward and looks quizzically into the water, eyes squinting to see better.  
  
“SHIT!” the yell startles them both, Minho  _and_  the figure—who Minho just barely recognizes as Taemin—that’s in the lake.  
  
Minho grabs his chest and breathes deeply, catching his breath as he looks at the head that popped out of the water.  
  
“Taemin?” The name falls from Minho’s lips hesitantly but he had no reason to doubt whether it was really Taemin or not, as Taemin lets out another one of his signature delighted squeels.  
  
“Meen-oh!”  
  
Though he can’t see Taemin’s face clearly in the dark, Minho can imagine exactly what it must look like and can’t help but chuckle at the boy.  
  
Taemin swims to the edge of the lake where Minho is.  
  
“Hey,” Minho says, voice soft. Taemin releases a giggle and Minho bends down to a squat to be closer to Taemin.  
  
The lake, though natural, had been expanded in all directions years ago, so the edge of the land surrounding the lake gives in to a steep drop. There’s about two feet of empty space between Taemin and Minho, so Minho leans forward slightly to see the boy more clearly.  
  
His skin seems to be bathed in an ethereal glow given off from the moonlight shining above. His hair is plastered down, the strands of hair matted and long. Minho feels the urge to run his fingers through them.  
  
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says, knowing Taemin can’t understand him. Indeed, Taemin’s head cocks to the side, confusion evident on his face. Regardless, Minho goes on, “What are you Taemin? Half-fish half-boy?” No answer comes, though Minho hadn’t expected one.  
  
Feeling suddenly reckless, Minho holds out his hand, wondering if Taemin will show the same trust in him as he’d shown last week. He needn’t have worried though; Taemin grabs his hand firmly though his fingers slip a bit from the water they’re coated in.  
  
Although he’s afraid he’ll hurt the smaller boy by trying to drag him across the rocky lake edge onto the land, Taemin shows none of the same concern. He tugs on Minho’s hand and Minho has no choice but to lean back on his heels and haul him up.  
  
They tumble back much the same way as the last time Minho pulled Taemin out of the water. Minho stretches an arm out above his head and gropes for the towel he’d had the foresight of bringing. When he tilts his head to look at Taemin, who’s sprawled quite comfortably over him, Minho gets the shock of his lifetime when he sees that Taemin now has—  
  
“Legs?” He swallows thickly, feeling immense confusion. “You have legs?”  
  
Taemin lifts his head slightly and looks at Minho from beneath his wet fringe. Minho takes the towel in his one hand and dries Taemin’s face, which scrunches up adorably as he runs the thick cloth over his delicate features.  
  
“I  _really_  must be going out of my mind,” Minho mutters under his breath as he wipes the towel down Taemin’s back. He hesitates for a second—taking in a small breath and holding it—before he runs the towel over the curve of Taemin’s smooth buttocks. He feels the smaller boy shiver in his arms and Minho himself feels his face flush red, quickly bringing the towel back up. He thanks the powers above that it’s dark out, hiding his blushing face.  
  
“Min…ho?” Minho ignores the boy as he continues to dry him. He feels his own clothes, a simple t-shirt and shorts, growing wet but doesn’t really mind. It’s hot out, so he has no doubt his clothes will dry soon enough.  
  
Finally, satisfied that Taemin is devoid of all moisture—at least on his backside—Minho sits up, pulling Taemin with him. Taemin snuggles up to him just as last time, tucking his head beneath Minho’s chin as though it’s where he belongs.  
  
They sit like that for some time, enjoying the peaceful stillness and both relishing in the other’s proximity. Minho continually runs his hand over Taemin’s back, his arm, wraps around his neck; small caresses that leave Taemin all but mewling in satisfaction. Beneath his hand Taemin’s skin, though soft, has a tough texture to it. Minho wonders if maybe however Taemin was made, he was given resistant skin to stop his body from pruning in the water.  
  
Eventually Minho realizes that it’s been some hours since he left and he needs to go back soon. He’s loathe to leave Taemin, feels his chest constrict in some unnamable emotion at the very thought of having to leave the boy.   
  
“Taemin-ah,” he says informally, his voice startling the boy. Taemin jerks his head away and looks at him questioningly.  
  
“I have to leave,” Minho says slowly, pronouncing each word clearly in some hope maybe Taemin will get it. Taemin evidently doesn’t—or just doesn’t care—as he curls back into Minho’s embrace. Minho pushes him away, though not unkindly. “Leave,” he repeats, pointing with one hand to the forest path.   
  
Taemin blinks up at him. “Leave?” The word sounds foreign and awkward from his mouth but Minho nods his head.   
  
Slowly, Minho unravels himself from Taemin and stands before bending down and pulling Taemin up to him. It’s the first time they’ve both been vertical and Minho realizes to his quiet amusement that Taemin is a good head shorter than him, just barely grazing his shoulder. He keeps his eyes resolutely on Taemin’s face, knowing the other was completely bare and not wanting to embarrass either of them by accidentally looking  _there_.  
  
“I,” Minho pointed to himself, “leave,” he pointed to the rocky path once more. He regretfully pulls away from Taemin and walks backward, watching as the smaller boy tries to follow him. Taemin’s legs are wobbly from not having used them in so long. Had it not been for Minho’s quick reflexes, he’d have tumbled back to the ground.  
  
“No, Taemin-ah,” Minho says as he rights them both again before once more pulling away. “I…leave,” he points to himself and then the woods, “you…stay,” he points at Taemin and then the lake.  
  
He pulls away and this time Taemin doesn’t try to follow him. The waning moonlight gives away to the pale pink of dawn and with it, Minho can see Taemin’s crestfallen face. Though it pains him to have to leave, Minho knows he has to return to the city.  
  
When he reaches the edge of the woods, he turns around, breaking Taemin from his vision.   
  
Suddenly, Taemin calls out to him. “Minho!” It’s the clearest he’s ever spoken his name and Minho’s heart nearly stops at the hurt laced in the word. Minho stops but doesn’t turn around. With a steady breath, Minho grips the towel in his hand tightly and walks away, putting Taemin firmly behind him. As he walks back to his car, Minho tells himself that it doesn’t matter; he will never see Taemin again because this is just a whole level of crazy that Minho, with his hectic schedule and busy life, does not need to worry about. But as he’s driving back to his loft, the sunrise lighting his way home, he knows in the recesses of his mind that he’ll be back soon.  
  
But first, he needs to get more information.


	3. Innocence

It takes Minho two days to succumb to the itching curiosity of a mystery that is Taemin. He spends part of his days thinking about the boy and most of his days longing to visit him again.  
  
He isn't sure if it's fear or something else that stops him from going back. As much as the idea of seeing Taemin's achingly innocent face again compels him, he still finds himself hesitating.  
  
His manager notices he's distracted, noticed it since the singer returned from his vacation two weeks ago. When he asks Minho what's wrong, the only answer he gets is a dismissive, "Nothing."  
  
But there  _is_  something wrong. There's something wrong in finding a boy with a tail—a fish tail no less—in the middle of a lake. There's something wrong in finding the same boy again  _without_  his tail; and there's something inexplicably wrong in standing in front of a store called "Seung Hee's Fortune Shop" at 10:00 at night on a Saturday.  
  
He made the appointment with her earlier that day but standing in front of her quaint shop’s door now he fidgets and feels awkward. He feels more than a little silly for this because the most likely possibility of what’s going on is that he’s crazy.  
  
The door opens suddenly and he finds himself ushered inside by a short woman who shoots him a far too gleeful look.  
  
“Welcome to Seung Hee’s, Minho-shi.” Minho grunts in response—never having been one known for being talkative—but follows her through the store. It smells like incense and ancient books and there’s a variegated array of odd items littering every inch of the place that are probably adding to the musty scent. His nose crinkles in distaste as he passes by what looks like the skeleton of a dog hanging from the ceiling.  
  
She leads him to the back, behind a curtain hanging from the doorframe. The room is small, a table set in the middle and shelves aligning the walls. They hold aged tomes that have so much dust on them Minho has to wonder when the last time they were opened was.  
  
Only one small hanging light bulb—above the table—lights the room, giving it an eerie glow.  
  
For a moment, Minho entertains the idea that this woman is really a witch set to kill innocent customers like himself.  
  
“Sit, sit, please be comfortable.” He pulls out one of the two chairs at the table and sits, one arm slung lazily over the back of the chair as he feigns nonchalance. He doesn’t want her thinking he’s growing increasingly uncomfortable.  
  
She takes the seat across from him and smiles knowingly, unable to miss the tension his face can’t hide.  
  
“So,” she begins, “when we spoke earlier you said you had some questions?” Minho nods. “Questions for your future? Because I’m famous for—”  
  
“Questions about something else,” he interrupts before she has a chance to bag him into a fortune reading.  
  
“Would this ‘something else’ happen to have a name?”  
  
Minho is thoughtful for a moment before finally saying, “The name doesn’t matter. I just need some answers.”  
  
Suddenly Seung Hee smiles widely, revealing a row of awkward, jumbled teeth that glint strangely in the dim light. Minho can’t suppress a shiver at the look. “ _You_  want to know about the boy in the lake, yes?” she asks, drawing out each word carefully.  
  
Minho is shocked but quickly covers it up with his signature unconcerned look. He nods to her instead and waits for her to go on.  
  
“I know many things, Minho-shi. But not everything…no, not everything.” She pauses, looking contemplative for a moment before forging on. “I can tell you many things. I can tell you how well your next song will do; I can tell you that your manager is sitting in his home now thinking about whether to call you; I can even tell you that the odeng you will purchase later tonight will give you food poisoning.”  
  
“I’m not here for parlor tricks,” he says impatiently. “I just want information and you said you could give it to me.”  
  
“I said I  _had_  the information you want,  _not_  that I would give it to you.”   
  
Minho moves to stand and leave, frustration making him lose his patience, but Seung Hee grabs his wrist before he can and stops him. “And I never said  _wouldn’t_  give it to you, so sit down young man and let your auntie speak.”  
  
Minho glares at her but wisely remains silent.  
  
“Now, the boy in the lake. Has he spoken to you?”  
  
“N—kind of,” he amends. “He’s said my name. And he’s said his own.”  
  
She nods. “How interesting.” She props her elbow on the table and cradles her head in her hand, gazing at him intently. Her scrutiny makes him feel uncomfortable but he resolutely refuses to say anything.  
  
They stare at each other for several long minutes, neither looking away. Seung Hee, Minho can tell, is assessing him, as though looking for something in his face. The peculiar moment finally ends when she pulls away from the table and breaks the gaze.  
  
She smacks her lips and crosses her fingers atop the table. Rings are on every one of her fingers and shine from the overhead light. Her bangles jingle when she moves her hands.  
  
“I’m afraid I cannot tell you about the boy,” she finally says.  
  
“Wha—”  
  
“—but I can tell you about the lake,” she says over him. Minho shuts his mouth and waits. “It was your first time there? I’ll take your silence as yes. Well that lake is a peculiar place. Very strange. I remember my first visit…it didn’t end well—at least not for some time. I suppose that is just how the lake works—”  
  
“You’re speaking in riddles,” he interrupts.  
  
“I guess I am, aren’t I?” She laughs but Minho doesn’t join her. “Before that lake was taken over and expanded, it remained in that same place for a long time, untouched by the hands of ourselves. Not many knew of it because it is so sequestered and was, at the time, quite small—a pond, more than anything.  
  
“I first visited there with my mother when I was small. I will never forget her words to me that morning. ‘Seung Hee,’ she said, holding my hand in hers as we stared across the water, ‘we must leave here soon. But whatever happens, remember that it is meant to be.’ At the time I had no way to know what she meant.”  
  
“What happened?” Minho can’t help but prompt after she lapses into a pregnant silence.  
  
She looks him in the eye as she says, “About a week later, my mother left me on a street corner promising to come back. She never did. What happened to me after that is of no concern now,” she says before Minho can reply, “but my story, of course, did not end there.  
  
“It was many years later but I eventually returned to the lake. There was something about it that I could not let go of. Over the years since that time, I’ve heard hundreds of stories from people, read things,  _seen_  things…That lake was a mystery that I devoted my life to solve.”  
  
She laughs, though the sound is humorless even to Minho’s ears. “And I have solved it. That lake and its blessing in disguise.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“You wouldn’t. I doubt you ever could.” Minho watches as she closes her eyes and rubs her hand over her face. She suddenly looks a hundred years older, the lines on her wrinkled face telling him a tale of unknown pain and heartache. “Have you ever thrown a coin into a fountain and made a wish?”  
  
He’s taken aback by the strange question, but humors her and nods.   
  
“The lake works the same way.”  
  
“You throw a coin in and your wish comes true?”  
  
She shakes her head furiously, hair flouncing side to side. “The lake doesn’t give you what you want. It gives you what you  _need_.”  
  
“You aren’t making any sense,” he grinds out.  
  
“Don’t you see, Minho-shi? The lake  _gave_  you that boy because he is what you need.”  
  
“I don’t  _need anyone_, let along some kid with a fish tail!” he exclaims, his patience nearing its end. His fingers curl in anger at what Seung Hee is insinuating, blunt finger nails digging into his palm.  
  
“And that’s where you’re wrong. The boy isn’t simply there for your amusement. He isn’t there to be your friend or companion—though lord knows you need one,” she adds staring at him pointedly. “What you need is innocence. And that boy is it.”  
  
Unable to listen to anymore, Minho pushes his chair back and stands abruptly. “I don’t need your fairytales auntie. If you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.” He doesn’t wait for her to walk him out. He turns and is just lifting the veil back to leave when her next words have him freezing in his spot.  
  
“Whether you believe me or not isn’t my concern. But know this, like the token needed for the fountain, the lake does not work for free. Sooner or later you must pay for what it’s given you.”  
  
Minho turns around and glares. “How much?”  
  
She throws her head back and laughs unrestrainedly at his naïve question. “Not ‘how much,’ my dear,” she finally answers when her laughter dies to mere giggles, “but  _when_.” She stands from her chair and walks to one of the numerous shelves. Reaching up, she lifts a thick book off the wood and flips it open.  
  
Inside the pages are cut, a small bottle nestled inside. She walks over to him and takes his hand in hers, prying his hand open and depositing the small bottle into his open palm before closing his fingers around it.  
  
“This is the last bottle of the old lake water I have left, before the lake was contaminated. You will need it, I can assure you of that.”  
  
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” she says with a small laugh, ignoring the quirking of his eyebrow. “But  _you_  will. When you need to use it, you’ll know how. Now,” she pushed him through the doorway and back into the main part of the shop, “get outta here. I don’t want you in here again, got that?”  
  
Minho pockets the small bottle and walks back to the shop’s entrance door. With his hand still on the handle though, he suddenly turns back to face Seung Hee.  
  
“What did the lake give you?” he unexpectedly asks. “What did you ‘need?’”  
  
Her smiling face immediately hardens, eyes intense as she looks at him. “Understanding,” eventually she answers. “It gave me understanding; the ability to know things. And,” she says before he can ask, “I lost my mother in return.”  
  
Wordlessly, Minho leaves the shop, the door clanging shut behind him. As he’s walking down the sidewalk towards his car parked several blocks down, he makes the decision to revisit the lake tomorrow morning. He can’t wait anymore; the deep sense of longing he feels for Taemin has grown nearly unbearable.  
  
But he doesn’t go back the next day. He has to wait until Monday because he spends Sunday in bed, sick from food poisoning from the odeng he bought on his way home.


	4. Home

It feels like forever since Minho has come to the lake but it’s only been a few weeks. And the closer he drives to it, the faster he itches to go, until his car feels like it’s flying through the canopy of stars and silence outside.  
  
It’s late, nearly midnight. He’d walked out on his manager in the middle of a rundown of his schedule for the rest of the week and had all but run to his car in the parking lot. He hadn’t known what he’d been thinking but his stomach had felt sick and his legs had had a mind of their own.   
  
This is what he’s become in the past few weeks. It hadn’t been so bad at first; no discomfort, no longings for salty sea and open air. But the days inched by and Minho’s mind had become distracted, plagued with thoughts laughter and sweet smiles in the day and soft, smooth skin and scales at night.  
  
And now he finds himself nearly running through the woods in the middle of the night, scrambling to get to the lake. Something is urging him forward, pushing from behind and pulling him in front and he can barely breathe what with the urgency burning his legs forward.   
  
He gasps as he falls through the edge of the forest and comes into the view of the lake, the beautiful, glowing lake whose water top glistens like pearls from the reflection of the moonlight. His breath comes heavy and his legs and even his head hurt but he surges forward, stumbling onto the wooden dock.   
  
The wind is rushing past his ears, angry and unsettled just like his heart.   
  
“Taemin-ah!” he screams, voice carried like the jingle of low bells on Sunday morning throughout the town. Nothing moves, nothing stirs. Only the lake top continues to ebb and flow across the shore, whispers of unseen creatures crawling their way to places only they can find.  
  
Minho trembles as he walks cautiously to the very edge of the dock, eyes scanning the lake’s expanse for any sign of movement, any  _hint_  that Taemin is there. He cups his hands around his mouth, eyes closing as he screams out the boy’s name again, hearing his voice fade like music into the night.  
  
And then there it is, that sign he’s been desperately calling for.   
  
A squeal sounds only some feet away in the water, followed by steady splashing. With the squeal comes the beautiful cry of his name shortly after and something in Minho’s chest unclenches, falls completely away, as the sound reaches his ears.  
  
“Meen-oh!”  
  
He’s never felt like this before and it frightens him. The solid pounding of his heart, the awareness of his blood thrumming through his veins, but most of all, the unbearable need to fall to his knees and grab the boy and never let him go, never again let him of his sight…it’s almost painful for Minho to remain standing on the deck when all he wants to do is plunge into the water.  
  
“ _Meen-oh_ ,” it comes again and this time it’s much closer and much softer but no less beautiful. Minho can see the top of Taemin’s head in the water, coming nearer and nearer. From the way it moves, he knows without even thinking about it that when he pulls the boy from the water—for he will, he  _must_ —Taemin will have his tail once more.  
  
Minho falls to his knees as Taemin stops not a foot away from the edge of the dock. He bends forward, reaching out his arm desperately, and just as before Taemin, doesn’t hesitate to take it in his own, fingers small and thin and so fragile in Minho’s hand. And as their hands join together in the tangible space between their hearts, Minho realizes why it feels so perfect to be like this.  
  
He’s back with his boy.  
  
***  
  
He can’t go back. He won’t, refuses to even consider it. Minho knows he will surely die if he were to go back home alone.  
  
The last time Minho checked his watch, the glass screen had read 1:11am. He doesn’t care how late it is, nor how much time he’s spent already. This is where he’s supposed to be, and he knows it.  
  
It had been painful letting go of Taemin’s hand but it had taken only a few moments for the other to understand that Minho wanted him to swim to the shore, where the taller boy could pull him up safely. Since then, they’d remained in each other’s arms; Taemin’s head snuggled beneath Minho’s chin; Minho’s arms around Taemin’s waist; Taemin’s tail tucked securely beneath him.   
  
It’s strange that the cold, hard demeanor Minho has spent his life creating melts so easily when with Taemin. Though he remains unsmiling around him, Minho’s eyes are soft as he gazes down at the small boy, watching him draw small figures in the sand with his finger. Every so often he flicks his tail to the side, the forked end rubbing away his creation only for him to begin anew. It’s both endearing and mystifying for Minho.  
  
He glances at his watch once more, seeing it’s been an hour and now reads 2:04. Unlike last time though, he feels no need to leave. Instead, his arms tighten around Taemin’s waist, prompting the smaller boy to look up.  
  
His hair has dried since he left the water. Soft, brown locks frame his face, wavy and slightly tangled, as Minho assumes his hair has never been combed. It’s longer than Minho’s own hair, his falling to just below his jaw whereas Taemin’s spills to nearly his shoulders. Unwinding one hand from Taemin’s hip, Minho gently runs his fingers through the tresses. Something in his chest aches when Taemin purrs, eyes closing and head leaning into the touch, encouraging Minho to massage his head.  
  
“Taemin-ah,” he whispers, voice low and husky from disuse. Taemin’s eyes open again, a shuttered look suddenly falling over his eyes. For some reason he tries to pull away and Minho, afraid Taemin is trying to leave him, grabs him again and holds him closer, dragging him onto his lap as far as he can.  
  
“Taemin-ah,” he says again, voice firmer. He watches as Taemin’s eyes drift down momentarily, only to come up and meet his again, his look intense and almost heated.  
  
“Meen-oh leave,” he says and though he tries to sound angry, Minho hears the hurt in his voice.  
  
He shakes his head determinedly, bringing his face even closer to Taemin’s. “No,” he says, “Minho stay…with Taemin.”  
  
Taemin looks confused for a moment, eyes questioning as he gazes back. His lips move but no sound comes out until suddenly, hesitantly, he asks, “Stay…with Taemin?”  
  
Minho allows his lips to curve into a small smile, Taemin’s answering one warming his heart. He nods in agreement, reaching his hand up to brush away a stray lock of Taemin’s hair from his face. “Yes, Minho stay with Taemin. Okay?”  
  
Minho isn’t sure Taemin understands him, but Taemin eagerly replies, “Okay!” prompting Minho to release a small chuckle.  
  
Taemin smiles at him again before suddenly yawning and burying his face into Minho’s neck. It takes Minho a moment for him to realize that the smaller boy is saying something and, straining to hear it, listens closely.  
  
“Minho…stay with Taemin…okay…Stay,” he keeps repeating. In that moment, Minho’s heart breaks wondering how he could have ever left Taemin. And that’s when realization suddenly dawns on him. Seung Hee had been right; he  _did_  need Taemin.  
  
Well shit.  
  
***  
  
In his life Minho has done some pretty crazy things. The time he chose to hook up with his co-star from his first music video way back when he’d been sixteen had been stupid. Getting drunk and stumbling home from a club at eighteen—cameras flashing and following him the whole time—had been really stupid. Letting his manager talk him into a six year contract when he was nineteen was probably pretty stupid too.  
  
But smuggling a sleeping merboy into his apartment building at 4 in the morning is easily the craziest, dumbest, most potentially-life-screwing thing yet. And as he holds Taemin in his arms, head cradled against Minho’s shoulder and tail barely secure over the arm not supporting his back, Minho has absolutely no regrets.  
  
It’s lucky that Minho insisted on having a room at the top floor—the most expensive but also the most private. His apartment extends the entire floor, so the only people ever on it were himself, his friends and his manager—far too often for his liking.  
  
He thanks every god he doesn’t believe in that no one met him on the way to the elevator and no one got on on his way up. He has no idea how to explain his situation or why he’s carrying around a little merboy in his arms.  
  
The elevator dings, signaling he’s reached his floor. The sound causes Taemin to stir but Minho breathes warm breath into his ear and the action immediately settles him again. When Minho gets his apartment door open, with much struggling so he doesn’t wake Taemin, he stumbles inside and as gently as possible closes it again using his hip.  
  
He has no idea what to do now and that’s when he realizes that maybe he hadn’t thought this through completely.  
  
He gazes around his living room, trying to think. Taemin can’t just sleep on the couch, where Minho usually dumps his friends who need a place to crash. Then again, Taemin can’t sleep in Minho’s bed either because the boy most likely needs water. He could put him in the pool but that would mean taking him up to the roof and risking someone else finding Taemin—which Minho refused to allow to happen.   
  
Conflicted, Minho walks carefully down the hallway and as he’s passing the bathroom, that’s when it comes to him. The bathtub in his bathroom…  
  
He quickly goes inside and switches on the light with his shoulder and that’s when Taemin wakes up.  
  
“Meen-oh?” he whispers, voice soft and light and achingly sweet and Minho completely forgets why he came into the bathroom in the first place. Until he spots the large bathtub he had had installed in a fit of pretentiousness.  
  
Looking at it now, he realizes maybe it’s not quite the biggest thing in the world, but it was large enough to let Taemin rest in comfortably. He walks over to it and slowly bends down to his knees, struggling to keep Taemin balanced.  
  
When Minho leans over the edge of the tub and tries to as gently as possible place Taemin inside, the other boy grabs him around the neck and all but screams, refusing to let go.  
  
“Shit,” Minho mumbles into Taemin’s hair, his head now buried in Minho neck. “Hey…Hey Taemin, it’s okay, let go, it’s okay,” he says soothingly, coaxing the boy to let go. Eventually, Taemin’s grip loosens enough and Minho lays him as comfortably as he can into the bathtub.  
  
He raises himself and sits on the edge, hand automatically going to Taemin’s hair and softly carding his fingers through it. Taemin gazes up at him, eyes adoring and beautiful and causing Minho’s chest to ache from the delicacy of his features. Minho doesn’t question why Taemin seems so comfortable, not making a fuss about the strangeness of his surroundings now. The smaller boy simply looks at him.   
  
Eventually, Minho pulls away and leans over to the side, turning the faucet on and plugging the drain to keep the water in. Taemin gazes at the now rushing water for a second before turning back to Minho, eyes questioning.  
  
“It’s okay,” Minho says, “just water, see?” He reaches his hand beneath the stream of warm water and then rubs his wet hand down Taemin’s arm. Taemin dips his fingers into the small puddle of water already forming at the bottom of the tub. He looks devilish for a moment before cupping his hand and flinging the liquid in his hand at Minho.   
  
“Hey!” the sound erupts from Minho’s mouth but Taemin, surprisingly enough, doesn’t look frightened. He looks almost coy, dipping his hand into the water again as though to try throwing it once more. Before he can, Minho grabs his wrist and stops him.  
  
He tries to look stern as he says, “Taemin-ah,” but he knows he’s failed when Taemin just laughs and flips his tail in the bathtub, spraying water everywhere. And though Minho knows there’s now a mess everywhere, and he knows he’s going to be sopping wet by time he has to get ready again for the day, he also knows he doesn’t care. A little water is a small price to pay to have his boy with him. Then Taemin squeals and grabs one of the bottles sitting on the edge of the tub and manages to open it, spurting bath gel all over the tub and even on Minho’s clothes.  
  
And Minho knows it’s going to be a long week.

**TBC**


	5. Magic

There's an insistent banging, like the steady pounding of his heart in his chest just before he’s going on stage for a concert, that pulls Minho away from the fitful slumber he’d been in. He opens his eyes and for a moment, the world is distorted and very strange, because he definitely doesn’t remember his bedroom having a sink or toilet in it.  
  
“ _Minho you asshole, open this fucking door right now!_ ” he hears but it’s not the words that register so much as it is the tone in which they were delivered. He closes his eyes, snuggling his head further into his crossed arms, a lock of his hair tickling his nose but he ignores it.  
  
And then his eyes open wide in shock as he scrambles to his feet, adrenaline making his blood thrum in his veins.  
  
 _Oh fuck,_  he thinks, hands tangling into his hair as his eyes sweep around his bathroom, stomach sinking as he sees the mess of water and soap and towels strewn about. And then his eyes fall back to the enormous bathtub, whose edge he’d fallen asleep on, and his legs nearly give out as he catches sight of Taemin still sleeping in the tub.  
  
The water looks dirty and unclear but the tub being as shallow as it is, he can clearly make out the distinguished scarlet scales, letting him know that yes, Taemin is still a mermaid and yes he’s still sitting in his bathtub.  
  
“ _MINHO!_ ” he hears again and this time his mind is alert enough to know it’s his manager screaming through his door. A glance down at the watch on his wrist informs him it’s already past 9, meaning the he’s late for the photoshoot he was scheduled for.  
  
He tugs at his pants, not completely wet but soggy, same as his shirt. His manager’s furious pounding only gets worse and he knows he really needs to open the door and explain to him why exactly he slept so late and why he missed the photoshoot but prays he can avoid explaining why there’s a little merboy sleeping in his bathtub—  
  
He pulls his shirt off and drops it carelessly into a puddle of water as he leaves the bathroom, closing the door softly behind so as to not wake Taemin. The pants will just have to remain, no time to run to his room and change into a different pair of trousers.  
  
He rubs his eyes tiredly, trying to wake himself a bit more or at least appear like his more alert before he has to face his manager. He opens the door, mouth already open to offer some lie of an excuse to explain his situation, but before he gets the chance, the man before him is already pushing past Minho into the singer’s apartment, face red and blotched and demanding answers.  
  
“Manager-shi—”  
  
“—irresponsible and careless! You didn’t even call to explain, just left like an idiot with his tail on fire and then when  _I_  try to call y—”  
  
“Manag—”  
  
“—don’t pick up! What have I always told you, Minho? Always…keep…your…phone! What the hell was more important than our meeting, huh? Drugs? Is that it Minho?” His manager was fuming at this point, eyes wide as he asked, “Are you smoking something? What are you on? Come on, tell your manager, I promise, I —”  
  
“ _Manager-shi_!” Minho finally exclaims and his manager, much to his relief, falls silent, though his eyes remain probing and curious. “I’m  _not_  on drugs,” he says, sounding much calmer than he feels. “I had something to do last night, something really important.”  
  
“Important?” Minho nods. “Did you leave your stove on? No wait, your cooking couldn’t keep rats alive. So, what? What the fuck was so imp—”  
  
Suddenly a huge splash is heard, followed by a high pitched squeal that sounds more like a wail than anything. Minho’s eyes widen as his manager freezes, back suddenly stiff.  
  
“Don’t you dare tell me,” he says, voice dangerously calm and controlled, “you left the studio at midnight last night to pick up some chick.” Mind working to figure out a way of getting his manager out of his apartment as quickly as he can, Minho says the first thing that comes to his mind.  
  
“I did,” he lies. “It was a date. I went to pick her up, didn’t have time to text her I’d be late.” He grabs his manager’s shoulders and tries to shuffle him to the door just as another squeal sounds. Even more frantic to get the older man out of his apartment, Minho holds little care for respect as he all but shoves his manager through the open door. “And you’re right, absolutely right. That was irresponsible of me and to make up for it, I’m going to get ready right now for the next schedule, so manager-shi, I will see you shortly at the studio.” And with that, Minho slams the door shut, thanking the higher powers he doesn’t think even exist that his manager doesn’t start pounding on his door again.  
  
Silence follows the slamming of his door for about four seconds before another cry sounds from the closed bathroom, only this time it sounds suspiciously like his name. Heart beating erratically, Minho nearly runs back to the bathroom, yanking the door open.  
  
From pounding harder than the reverberating beat of his music on stage, his heart nearly stops at the sight that meets his eyes. Taemin had seemingly crawled his way out of the tub, his body sprawled on the sopping wet floor beside it. His tail hindered him from any real movement when not in the water, thus he used his frail arms to hold himself up against the edge of the tub.  
  
Minho immediately rushes to him, pulling him against his chest and shivering slightly as Taemin’s wet body comes in contact with his still exposed torso. He looks down at the boy clinging to him, jerking slightly as he tries to crumple into Minho’s embrace. Minho can’t tell if his face is wet with water or tears, has a feeling it’s a bit of both.  
  
“Shh,” he whispers into Taemin’s small ear, struggling to hoist Taemin up and back into the tub, “it’s okay, relax, I’ve got you.” He tries to keep his voice calm but Taemin refuses to be consoled, latching onto his chest first then holding fast to Minho’s arms as Minho attempts to deposit him back into the water.  
  
“ _Taemin_ ,” he bites out, voice sharper than he means it to sound, “be still, you need to go back into this tub.”  
  
Taemin finally lets go, but his face is still scrunched, looking like he’s ready to start screaming a storm any moment. For a second, Minho wonders just how old Taemin might be, because he’s acting like the toddlers his stylists sometimes bring with them to work.  
  
Eventually, Taemin is back in the water, though he’s pressed as far against the side as he can be, fingers from both hands holding Minho’s left arm in a death grip that has his skin turning white. With some effort—Taemin is evidently much stronger than he appears—Minho pries the small boy’s fingers off his arm, holding his tiny wrists in one of his much larger hands. He runs his other hand through Taemin’s hair, hoping to further relax the boy that way, and it seemingly works as Taemin slumps against the edge of the tub.  
  
Minho stares at the corner of his sink’s marble counter, eyes not really seeing it as he thinks. He told his manager he was getting ready, which means he has maybe a half hour at most before he needs to be at the studio for whatever else is still there on his schedule. The only problem is that he can’t leave Taemin in his apartment alone, at least not in the bathtub. It may be big enough to sleep in for a few hours, but it’s definitely not big enough to stay awake in for an entire day.  
  
“Shit,” he murmurs beneath his breath, “now would be a great time to sprout some legs again.” Taemin doesn’t respond and when Minho takes a glance at him, he sees that the smaller boy has his chin resting on his upper arm, eyes closed but face melted in a despondent frown. With a sigh, Minho releases the boy’s wrists from his hand, twining it instead with the boy’s thin fingers, stroking his knuckles tenderly with his thumb.  
  
He suddenly feels ages old, feels exhausted from weeks of worrying about this little boy and running around haggard for various schedules and promotions. He drops his head to rest beside Taemin’s, laying his forehead against the side of Taemin’s head.  
  
“Minho,” Taemin whispers. His voice sounds almost as tired as Minho feels. “Stay with Taemin.”   
  
Minho breathes out, exhaling slowly. His breath curls Taemin’s hair, tickling his ear. He doesn’t say anything, but from the way Taemin releases a small sniffle, he realizes he doesn’t need to.  
  
***  
  
 _The cleaning lady is going to have one hell-of-a time cleaning this place up,_  Minho thinks to himself, rinsing the shampoo from his hair. He’d finally moved away from Taemin, stripping out of the rest of his clothes unabashedly and stepping into the shower. Taemin seemed to have fallen asleep again, giving Minho a few minutes of peace to think about what he’s going to do about the little merboy.  
  
As he’s soaping his hair with conditioner, the decision finally comes to him. He’ll just have to call his manager and tell him to cancel everything for the rest of the week. It’ll buy him some time to figure out what to do with Taemin. Secretly, he’s a little excited at the prospect of getting to spend so much time with him too, but he pushes those feelings away, not wanting to dwell on them quite yet.  
  
He finishes in the shower, shutting the water off and grabbing the last towel on the rack. Running it once through his his wet hair, he then wraps it around his waist and steps out of the shower, covering a yawn behind his hand. He quietly finishes brushing his teeth and leaves the bathroom, going to his bedroom to don some clothes.  
  
Just as he finishes slipping on his shirt, he hears a thud in the bathroom and Minho panics as he realizes Taemin is awake and probably trying to escape from the tub in search of him again.   
  
He rounds the corner of the doorway and it really isn’t his fault that he exclaims, “What the  _fuck_?!”  
  
Taemin startles and falls back into the tub with a large splash. He comes up spluttering from the water, swiping at his face to wipe the water away from his eyes. What startled Minho wasn’t Taemin trying to get out of the tub though. It was him with one  _leg_  dangling over the edge of the tub as he tried to hoist himself out.  
  
Minho walks almost cautiously toward the tub. When he peers inside, he confirms that yes, Taemin has his legs back. He stares at the murky silhouette of his legs in the water before he meets Taemin’s eyes, wide and curious again.   
  
Minho grins suddenly, feeling a weight lifted from his shoulders. He bends down and pulls Taemin up, grabbing one of the towels by his feet and quickly wrapping it around Taemin’s waist—he resolutely refuses to look down there. His hands fall onto Taemin’s shoulders, unable to stop a laugh from falling from his mouth. Taemin grins back, though his eyes reveal he doesn’t understand why exactly they’re laughing together.  
  
“Guess we know the magic words now, huh, Taemin-ah?”  
  
Taemin cocks his head to the side, eyes squinting at Minho though he continues to smile. Minho finds the look endearing, running his knuckles through Taemin’s hair and delighting when the small boy releases a tinkling giggle.  
  
“Muh-zeec!” he laughs out. His feet rush awkwardly over the edge of the tub and had Minho not been there to catch him, he’d have fallen on his face. Minho steadies him, letting Taemin’s arms wrap around his waist, not caring that his clothes are, once again, becoming wet because of him. Taemin tilts his head back and shoots an infectious smile up at Minho and the singer can’t help but think,  _Yeah, it is magic._

**TBC**


	6. Dangerous

No matter what appendages Taemin may have on his lower extremities, fish tail or legs, Minho quickly comes to the realization that Taemin is first and a foremost a child. A very innocent, very clumsy, very sweet child.  
  
The singer has no idea what he did or said to make Taemin’s legs appear again, but he prays they will last. If possible, forever would be ideal. The rest of the week will suffice.  
  
When Minho finally manages to extricate himself from Taemin’s grasp, the first thing he does is appraise the smaller one, trying to come up with a plan. If he can get Taemin dried and dressed in the next 10 minutes, he’ll only be a few minutes later than he’d intended to be at the studio.   
  
That right there proves to be another problem. Taemin with legs solved his issue of what to do with him for the week, at the very least the rest of the day. But if he takes Taemin to the studio with him, there’s little chance he’ll concentrate on anything other than him, worrying where he is, how he’s faring, if he still has  _legs_.  
  
 _My life was so easy before I took that goddamn vacation,_  Minho thinks to himself. Taemin is looking at him with wide eyes and a bright smile that reveals a row of straight, glistening teeth. He feels something in his chest warm every time Taemin has that soft look in his eyes and it’s not without a good dose of virile pride that Minho realizes it’s whenever Taemin looks at  _him_. Whether he really is that dependent on Minho or not doesn’t matter to the singer, so long as Taemin needs him and Minho can be there.  
  
There are many things Taemin clearly does not yet understand about Minho’s world, the first being that letting the towel around his waist go is not at all acceptable. When Taemin grabs Minho’s wrists and tries to pull his arms up, Minho can’t help but release the towel clutched in his fingers. His face burns red as he quickly pulls away and grabs the towel, wrapping it snuggly around Taemin’s waist and tugging him out of the bathroom. Taemin just giggles behind him, following obediently.  
  
“Taemin-ah,” Minho says as he ensures the towel is secure around his waist and shuffles him into his bedroom, “stay here. Don’t move.” He pushes Taemin to sit on the edge of the bed and pulls away, walking toward his closet. He rifles through several articles of clothing, trying to find something that’s small and would fit the smaller boy but that doesn’t look like it’s several years old and ready for the dumpster.  
  
He finally settles on a simple t-shirt and jeans, a safe bet. Apparently not when it comes to little merboys.  
  
The shirt goes on easily enough. Taemin flails his hands in an attempt to thwart the other’s endeavor of sticking his head through the small shirt but eventually it goes on. His arms are pulled carefully through, elbows and wrists bent awkwardly for a moment as Minho tugs them through the sleeves. Just as Taemin’s limbs and head are free and out from inside the garment, he rocks on the bed for a moment before falling forward, arms grabbing around Minho’s waist to stop himself from falling down completely.  
  
Minho almost laughs but holds it in, pushing Taemin back. He falls backward onto the bed, feet dangling off the edge and hair fanned like a halo around his head. He laughs as Minho looks down at him, lips quirked in an amused grin.  
  
“You are so much trouble, you know that?” Minho asks rhetorically. Taemin fingers the short sleeves of his t-shirt, looking in rapt wonderment at the worn threads that are sticking out. Minho bats his hand away as it tries to pull a loose string.  
  
It gets awkward when Minho eyes the pair of unassuming jeans resting lonely on the bed. He gingerly picks them up and fiddles with the edge of the zipper before heaving a sigh and straightening his back. He’s just going to have to do this, discomfort and awkwardness aside.  
  
“Taemin-ah, you have to wear these pants.” Taemin’s attention comes back to him, eyes staring at the peculiar object in Minho’s hands. He smiles beatifically, arms suddenly spreading out across the bed as he throws his head back and laughs. He arches his back and kicks his knees up slightly and really, no red-blooded male could see the image of Taemin the way he was and not turn scarlet.  
  
Minho shakes his head, dismissing any lingering lewd thoughts. The towel is, miraculously enough, still covering Taemin’s most private area but with the way Taemin is writhing on the bed, it won’t be for long. Minho takes a breath, steeling himself. He bends down and, trying to be as calm as possible so as to not startle Taemin, fits one leg then the other through the pants. He tugs them up Taemin’s calves, across his soft thighs, shuddering when his fingers skim the smooth, pale skin. When his fingers meet the edge of the towel, he finally lets it fall to the side.   
  
Everything stops then. Taemin stops moving, Minho stops breathing. There’s tension in the air and when Minho looks up to meet Taemin’s eyes, there’s nothing but pure curiosity reflected in the soft brown orbs.   
  
Minho releases the breath he’d been holding and moves the pants the rest of the way up. If his thumbs accidentally brush against Taemin’s very obvious private area, Minho doesn’t dwell on it. This is the most intimate he’s even been with someone—it strangely feels so much more intimate than quick screws in dressing rooms or dark closets with stylists and co-stars respectively. Taking care of someone that isn’t himself is a level of affection Minho has never experienced before, and it at once frightens and excites him.  
  
Minho quickly zips up and buttons the pants, congratulating himself for the lack of disasters. When he’s done, he straightens and looks down at Taemin.   
  
It looks as though Taemin fell asleep on his bed. His eyes are closed but from the erratic breathing Minho can tell he’s very much awake.  
  
“Taemin-ah, get up, time to leave.” At that final word, Taemin’s eyes immediately open, body springing up into a sitting position as he scrambles to hold onto Minho.  
  
“Minho leave!” he cries and hugs himself closer to Minho’s middle, burying his face into Minho’s waist and letting his arms tighten. Minho pushes him away—though not unkindly—and tugs him up. Taemin is shorter than him but he fits perfectly in the crook of Minho’s arms, the perfect height to bury his face into Minho’s neck, which he doesn’t hesitate to do, still clutching onto the singer.  
  
“Taemin, you’ll leave with me, okay? Leave with Minho?”  
  
“Minho leave?”  
  
Minho shakes his head and pulls Taemin away to meet his eyes. “No, Taemin leave  _with_  Minho.” He tries to make each word clear and definite so that Taemin will maybe understand, at the very least be able to pick up the general meaning behind the words.  
  
Once again, Taemin’s childlike innocence manifests as he cocks his head back and looks puzzled at Minho for a moment. Finally, he sighs and buries his face back into Minho’s chest, shaking his head gently and inhaling deeply. Minho wraps his arms around Taemin’s shoulders and twirls the boy’s long hair around his index finger.   
  
They need to get going, Minho’s knows that. But with Taemin snuggled against him, he thinks maybe he can spare a few more minutes.  
  


\- - -

  
  
All of Minho’s shoes are too big for Taemin’s feet. Evidently, Taemin, doesn’t like the idea of anything constricting his feet either.  
  
“ _Taemin_!” Minho doesn’t mean to speak so sharply, startling the boy, but really, after trying on 4 pairs of shoes already only for Taemin to kick the sneakers or sandals off again, Minho is more than frustrated. “Keep these shoes on,” he grinds out from clenched teeth.   
  
A look of annoyance crosses over Taemin’s face just before he shoves Minho back with surprising strength. He struggles to undo the tight knots Minho tied on the lace up boots. He lets out a cry as Minho pushes his hands away and like the petulant child Taemin is acting as, Taemin soon enough finds himself batting his hands against Minho, shoving at his chest, trying to kick him away.  
  
Minho is taller, bigger, and all around stronger, so it doesn’t take him long to successfully thwart all of Taemin’s attempts to move him away. They end up on the bed together, Taemin panting beneath Minho as the larger boy gazes down at him with a stern look on his face.  
  
It’s only when Taemin draws his bottom lip between his teeth, tantalizing Minho with reddened cheeks and tousled hair and wide, uncertain eyes, that Minho recognizes the position they’re in. If he were anyone else he’d pull away and resolutely never think of this moment again, how he was only inches away from the small boy.   
  
But Minho has always been one for danger and without thinking, he bends closer to Taemin, letting his lips come in contact with Taemin’s neck, the space just beneath his jaw. The skin is soft and warm and he opens his mouth, pressing first a small, nearly hesitant kiss to the juncture before becoming bolder, taking the flesh between his teeth and swiping his tongue delicately across the skin.  
  
He  _feels_  Taemin shudder beneath him just before his arms free themselves and clutch his shoulders. Taemin emits what Minho could only call a mewl, head falling even more to the side to give Minho better access.  
  
Dimly Minho realizes this is very stupid. He has no idea how he came to find himself and Taemin in so intimate a position, but Taemin is warm and willing, clearly enjoying Minho’s gentle gesture as he releases a small, breathy whimper. And when Minho is sure he’s going to go crazy and do something he’ll really regret, he finds it in himself to pull away.  
  
His left hand comes up and frames Taemin’s face, thumb tenderly stroking the area he’d been kissing only seconds before. Taemin’s breath hitches and it looks like he’s going to say something, but Minho beats him to it.  
  
“Kiss,” he whispers, voice husky and low and wavering as the word slips past his lips. “Kiss…Minho kiss Taemin. Okay?”  
  
Taemin nods and for the first time ever, he looks like he really understands what Minho is saying.   
  
“Minho,” Taemin whimpers. The sound does something very crazy to Minho’s heart, some emotion he’s never encountered before sweeping over him. “Minho…kiss Taemin. Kiss Taemin, Minho.”  
  
It’s a command that Minho is powerless to fight and, without a trace of hesitation, Minho swoops down and presses his closed lips to Taemin’s. There’s no pressure, no tongue. As far as kisses go, it’s nothing more than a brush of mouth against mouth before Minho pulls away again.  
  
But for Minho, who’s used to frenzied, hurried, stolen kisses between shoots or clumsy, sloppy, wet kisses after hours of drinking and before a night of drunken fun, it’s one of the best he’s ever had.

**TBC**


	7. Anger

When he pulls away, Taemin ducks his head and looks embarrassed. A flush begins at his neck and creeps to his cheeks, a splatter of pink dusting his skin.  
  
Minho grins down at him, perhaps a bit wolfishly. He bends forward and nudges Taemin’s nose with his, wondering how a gesture so simple as a tiny kiss can make him feel like he’s king of the world. It’s empowering, he supposes, to hold power over someone so vulnerable.  
  
His thumb strokes Taemin’s cheek, wanting nothing more than to kiss the boy again as his eyes flutter close and he inhales deeply through his nose. He releases the breath slowly.  
  
“Come on,” Minho says softly, finally pulling away. He stands back somewhat awkwardly before taking hold of Taemin’s hands and pulling him up as well. Taemin stumbles into his arms looking sheepish as he gazes up at him. Minho finds it endearing.  
  
He sweeps his fingers through Taemin’s somewhat long hair. His fingers get tangled in the knotted tresses and, without thinking, he tugs Taemin behind him and pulls him back to the bathroom. The floor, sopping wet with shallow puddles of dirtied water, is like a minefield of fluffed towels and bath soap as he picks his way to the sink.  
  
He digs through the drawers and finally extracts a small hairbrush. Turning to the smaller boy, he pulls him in front of him, both staring at themselves in the mirror, and begins running the brush through Taemin’s knotted hair.  
  
“Minho?”  
  
Minho shakes his head, telling Taemin tacitly to not speak. “Your hair is all tangled Taemin-ah,” he says, not caring that Taemin has no idea what he’s saying. “Can’t have you going out in public with your hair a mess.” _When did I start sounding like my mother?_  he thinks to himself as he tugs at a particularly stubborn tangle.   
  
Taemin winces as Minho keeps pulling the brush through his hair. “Min _ho_!” he yelps at another viciously harsh scrape of the brush against his scalp.   
  
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, quickly dropping the brush and rubbing the sore area. His fingers gently massage Taemin’s head and it isn’t long before Minho watches his eyes close, breath even out, and head lean back against Minho’s chest.   
  
He eventually finishes untangling the rest of Taemin’s hair. “Come on,” he whispers into Taemin’s ear, warm breath tickling the small appendage. Taemin shudders in his arms as he pulls away.  
  
Minho holds Taemin’s hand as he leads him to the front door. Having been asleep the night before when he was first brought into the apartment, Taemin is evidently fascinated by everything from the doorknob to the peephole on the door. He stops and stands on his toes to inspect the little glass hole before Minho jerks him outside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.  
  
 _The cleaning lady really will have a grand time clearing the bathroom_ , he muses, leading Taemin down the hall to the elevator.  
  


\- - -

  
  
Minho resists the urge to shout when Taemin runs to the side of the elevator and presses all the buttons. They blink and the elevator doors shut with a small ding, prompting Taemin into a roll of laughter.  
  
“Taemin!” Minho yanks Taemin away and grips his shoulders, anchoring him to his side. “Don’t.”  
  
Taemin looks appropriately chagrinned even if he doesn’t know what he did wrong. Minho almost expects him to cry but once again is surprised when all he does is cross his hands over his chest and look away. “Don’t pout either,” he mutters, pushing hair away from Taemin’s face.  
  
“Don’t!” Taemin jerks away from Minho to hide in the corner of the elevator. The doors open with a flourish and remain so for the time that Minho spends looking at Taemin in exasperation before finally turning away, when the doors then close. Minho rubs a tired hand over his eyes, sighing.   
  
They hit every floor before finally making it to the lobby. Luck is clearly gracing Minho this day because no one else got on. Then again, Taemin is insisting on acting the recalcitrant child, gluing himself to the wall and refusing to budge when Minho demands him to come off the elevator so maybe luck isn’t being so kind after all.  
  
“Come out here now,” Minho grinds out, jaw clenched when Taemin merely rubs his nose and looks away. It’s frustrating how petulant Taemin is acting when not ten minutes ago Taemin had been smiling like a doll as Minho primped him in front of the mirror.  
  
Taemin still resolutely refuses to move, so Minho does the only thing he can and grabs him by the hand, unconsciously lacing their fingers together, and drags him into the lobby.  
  
People stare at them but the distance from the elevator to the main doors—and from there the parking garage—isn’t that far, which Minho is thankful for. Taemin emits a flustered whine as Minho’s hand tightens around his small fingers but Minho ignores him. There’s enough trouble to be met with as it is when he finally gets to the studio; Minho isn’t about to let Taemin’s callowness slow him down any further.  
  
Taemin stumbles after Minho as the taller boy pushes them through the door and out onto the sidewalk. Without letting time to speak, they make their way around the crowded corner and into into the parking garage.  
  
Taemin whines as they move through the dark area to Minho’s car. “Stop it Taemin,” hisses Minho, feeling only slightly guilty when a glance behind him reveals a hurt look on Taemin’s soft features.   
  
He finally gets to his car and unlocks it, yanking the passenger door open before shuffling a protesting Taemin into the seat.  _Shit_ , he thinks to himself,  _Anyone passing by is going to think I’m kidnapping him._  
  
Like the shoes, Taemin finds an immediate aversion to the seatbelt. The moment Minho tries to pull it across his chest, Taemin releases a startling shout that makes Minho freeze with his hand on the strap.  
  
“Stop struggling, damnit!” Taemin shoves Minho back, who nearly goes tumbling backward, only just stopping himself from meeting the cold pavement by grabbing the edge of the door. Minho moves back up and holds Taemin’s hands immobile with one hand while using the other to buckle the seatbelt. “Don’t move.” He realizes how cold his voice is, eyes glaring in frustration at the innocent boy who gazes back just as angrily.  
  
“Don’t move,” Taemin mimics.   
  
For a second Minho can’t hide his surprise, before his face is once again replaced with a scowl. “Stop that, Taemin.”  
  
“Stop that.”  
  
“Taemin—”  
  
“Minho.”  
  
Minho slaps his palm sharply against the car door, causing Taemin to jerk back. A glare is sent at Taemin but he simply ignores it, crossing his arms over his chest and idly flipping the belt strap. Minho grumbles under his breath but finally moves away, slamming the door closed and walking around the front to the driver’s seat.  
  
He settles inside and glances to his side at Taemin, who’s busy glaring holes into the passenger door window. The boy bites his bottom lip and as Minho watches, his eyes blur slightly, cheeks red and jaw clenched. Minho feels guilt punch him in the gut at the sight and without thinking, grabs one of Taemin’s hands in his own, cradling the delicate fingers between his.  
  
To his surprise though, Taemin jerks his hand back. “Don’t,” he says, voice firm and Minho isn’t sure what shocks him more; the clarity of the statement, or the frigid tone in which it was spoken.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Minho starts the car and puts it in reverse, carefully pulling them out of the parking garage and away from the sanctuary of Minho’s apartment.  
  


\- - -

  
  
He expects the studio to be chaotic the moment he steps foot inside and Minho isn’t surprised to see that it is.   
  
Stylists and choreographers and trainers and trainees and other people Minho barely recognizes but probably should know all pass him as he leads Taemin through the company lobby towards the elevator. It’s hectic and crazy and for mid morning, there’s quite the bustle of activity. Minho doesn’t miss how Taemin clutches his hand tightly and holds onto the folds of the back of his shirt, feeling frightened.  
  
He knows it shouldn’t but it makes him feel comforted that despite Taemin’s irritation, the boy still holds enough trust in Minho that he isn’t willing to let him ago. That feeling of being needed, being  _depended_  upon, is almost exhilarating for him.  
  
People stare at them as Minho continues to pull Taemin along. The shorter boy is nearly scrambling to keep up with the long strides of the other, but Minho pays no mind to his struggle. His only thoughts are to get to the elevator and to the sixth floor studio as quickly—and hopefully quietly—as he can. He has no desire to attract any unnecessary attention—and in this case, any and all attention is unnecessary.  
  
Once inside, Minho counts himself inexplicably lucky when they manage to snag an elevator with no one busy inside. He presses the button to close the doors as quickly as he can and the moment his hand pulls away from the row of numbers after selecting the wanted floor, Minho finds himself with an armful of Taemin.  
  
Taemin buries his face into Minho’s shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. While he isn’t sure exactly what prompted the sudden affection, Minho isn’t complaining and thus doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Taemin’s shoulders, holding him close and allowing him to stay nestled against him.  
  
He bends his head down slightly, nose nuzzling into Taemin’s hair. It still smells a bit salty, even cold, not sweet or warm or comforting as described in stories. But it reminds him of what Taemin is, of  _why_  he’s even there with Minho in the elevator, and for Minho, that knowledge makes everything better.  
  
 _What you need is innocence. And that boy is it,_  come Seung Hee’s words in his mind, unbidden though undeniably true.  
  
 _Innocent_ , he thinks to himself, feeling Taemin shudder in his arms.  _Taemin is completely innocent. I shouldn’t have been so harsh on him._  
  
“Taemin-ah?” A muffled grunt follows and Minho can’t help but smile slightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Taemin turns silent, thought his shoulders continue to heave from the force of his shaky breaths. “Taemin?”  
  
“Sorry?” Taemin pulls his head back and looks up at Minho, eyes guarded. It’s a frightening look for Minho to see, because it’s almost as though a small amount of Taemin’s innocence has already been chipped away, and for some reason that thought frightens him.  
  
Minho ignores his sudden fear and nods. “Sorry. I’m sorry, okay?”  
  
Taemin looks uncertain before offering a small smile. “Taemin sorry, okay?” He waits a beat before catching Minho completely by surprise as he leans on his toes and presses his lips to Minho’s, just as the elevator doors fly open.  
  


\- - -

  
  
His eyes are open wide and shocked, looking nothing less than like a deer caught in headlights. His manager and one of his stylists are standing on the other side of the elevator, having been waiting to take it up one floor. A few tense seconds pass by in gaping silence before Minho shoves Taemin back, who stumbles off the elevator and collides sideways against the door.  
  
“—Minho-shi—?”  
  
“—What the fuck—?” They both ask at the same time but Minho is only concerned for Taemin, who stands there rubbing his hurt side.  
  
“Uhm—I can explain,” Minho staggers, wrenching Taemin back towards him to inspect the bruise.  
  
From the corner of his eye he watches as his manager waves the stylist onto the elevator, telling her he’ll take the next one and be up shortly, before turning to Minho. “Explain? You can explain?  _Please do_.”  
  
In that moment, as he stands there under the heated glare of his manager and with Taemin’s elbow cradled against his chest as he tried to soothe away the sting, Minho realizes that maybe he can’t explain it at all. After all, he himself wasn’t exactly certain how he came to be caught kissing a little merboy he found in a lake.  
  
 _Technically, he found me_.  
  
“Well, this is Taemin,” Minho says, hedging around the matter and trying to buy himself more time. Several trainees carrying heavy duffel bags pass by them and Minho is almost envious of the way they can still laugh so easily.  _While it lasts_ , he thinks cynically.  
  
“Taemin? Who the hell is Taemin?”  
  
“Taemin is,”  _a mermaid who hit the side of my boat in a lake and who hasn’t left me alone since_  “a friend,” he finally settles on the simplest explanation. Granted, Taemin technically is Minho’s friend, so he finds comfort in telling himself it isn’t a complete lie.  
  
“A friend?”  
  
Minho nods emphatically, hopeful that he’ll successfully fool the older male. “Yes, a friend.”  
  
“Doesn’t your friend speak?” Taemin is too busy burrowing his way into Minho’s arm to care—or even properly notice—that he is now the topic of discussion.  
  
“He— _kind of_?” It’s more a question than a statement. “He’s not from around here.”  
  
“Clearly. Now Minho,” and this is what Minho has been dreading since even before the car ride, as his manager adopts a firm, scolding tone. “I’m not going to waste what precious time we have with questions on what you’ve been up to these past couple of hours. But Minho? You’d better have a  _damned good_  reason as to why you made me have to reschedule one of your biggest magazine endorsement photoshoots this month. Because believe you me, they were  _not_  happy. And now, if you don’t get your ass up to the next floor, your dance choreographer is the next person who’s going to be after your blood.”  
  
“Wait, I have practice now? It’s still morning!”  
  
His manager rolls his eyes but pushes the button for the up elevator. He looks suspiciously at Taemin, still with his face hidden from the world. “New choreo. You’ve got three hours now to learn it, then a radio interview, some recording time in the studio, and back here again to work on the routine some more.”  
  
In his mind, Minho groans at the prospect of the rest of the day. A thought suddenly comes to him as he’s contemplating what the radio interview will be like.  
  
“Where can Taemin stay?” he asks, trying to sound casual as the three of them step onto the elevator once more.  
  
“In your pocket for all I care, just make sure he’s not in your way for the rest of the schedule.” Minho nods in acknowledgement but, knowing Taemin and his reputation as he did, Minho holds little hope of that happening.

**TBC**


	8. Partners

What follows his manager’s statements is perhaps one of the most awkward elevator rides Minho remembers ever having to endure, and he thanks whatever powers that be that he and Taemin remain in the elevator with his manager for no more than a minute.  
  
The longest minute of Minho’s life.  
  
Taemin doesn’t help the situation any as he insists on sticking to Minho’s side much like a baby animal carried on his mother’s back. Minho, for his part, actually feels a bit like a mother, so the analogy it seems is fairly accurate.   
  
When the elevator doors slide open, he feels relieved as his manager turns the opposite direction of Minho and Taemin, breathing much more easily without his probing gaze on his back, scrutinizing the strange boy latched onto his arm.   
  
Taemin holds his hand between both of his tiny ones as Minho leads him down the hallway toward his dance studio. He pulls one of the heavy double doors open and ushers Taemin inside, following behind him and looking around quickly to see his instructor standing in the back corner texting away on his phone.  
  
“Dongsun-shi,” Minho calls out, startling the other away from his device. Dongsun looks up with a scowl, and Minho doesn’t try to hide his wince at the irritated look on his face.  
  
“You’re twenty minutes late, asshole!”  
  
Minho rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, embarrassed. “Uh yeah, about that—”  
  
His instructor holds up his hand, halting the excuse that Minho had attempted to start. “Don’t wanna hear it, don’t really care. Hurry up and get changed, I’ve only got an hour left to teach you as much of the routine as I can.”  
  
Silently, Minho nods his head and grabs Taemin’s hand, quickly tugging the small boy behind him as he heads to the locker room. By some stroke of luck, his instructor hadn’t bothered to ask about the young merboy. With any hope, Minho figures he’ll be able to hide Taemin away for an hour in the locker room, at least until his instructor leaves, giving Minho another two hours on his own to tackle the merboy-situation, as he’s taken to calling it.  
  
He pushes Taemin onto the bench, who settles down obediently with little resistance.  
  
“I’ll only be gone an hour,” Minho begins, grabbing the edge of his shirt and pulling it off. He ignores Taemin as he watches him, instead opening the lock on his locker and taking out an old t-shirt from the hook. “So just stay here, don’t make any noise, don’t  _go_  anywhere, and don’t touch anything either. Just sit and wait for me, okay?”  
  
He stops in the middle of sliding on a pair of track pants and looks up at Taemin. Taemin cocks his head to the side and looks at him in curiosity, smiling innocently after a moment and Minho realizes that he hadn’t, unsurprisingly, understood a word of what he’d been saying.  
  
A sigh escapes Minho as he finishes changing, closing the locker door and quickly locking it again before facing Taemin. “Alright,  _stay...here_ ,” Minho tells him.  
  
This time, Taemin clearly understands the words, because his eyes narrow at the taller boy leaning against the metal row of lockers behind him. “Minho leave, Taemin stay,” he says bitterly.  
  
Minho feels a twinge of guilt at the heavy statement, but pushes the feelings away. With a nod, he adds, “Only for an hour. I’ll come back.”  
  
“Come back.” Taemin curls his lips distastefully.  
  
“I will,” he insists, feeling surprisingly defensive. Taemin ignores him, laying onto his side and gathering his feet up beneath him on the bench. Head on his arm and eyes closed; Minho realizes he’s essentially been dismissed.   
  
The thought weighs heavily on his mind as he leaves the locker room.  
  


\- - -

  
  
Thirty minutes into learning the new routine, Minho finds himself sweating as though he’s just run a 10k marathon. Dongsun, his choreographer, watches wordlessly as Minho goes through the first 30 seconds of the song again and again. With his back against the wall, arms crossed nonchalantly across his chest, there’s a scowl set on his face that Minho can’t help but focus on in the huge wall mirror in front of him.   
  
He slips on his last turn and only his quick reflexes prevent him from meeting the wood flooring.  
  
“Okay, stop, stop,” Dongsun grouses, turning the music off. The sudden silence is only broken by Minho’s harsh breathing. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re off count, you’ve missed several steps in the beginning, throwing you completely off, and you look like crap.”  
  
Shoulders shaking as he hunches over with his hands on his knees, Minho gasps out an apology and closes his eyes against the sweat trickling into his eyes. “Turn the music on, I got it this time.”  
  
“No see, that would be cruel to force you to do this again. Just stand there and watch me run through it once more and then try again. Seriously though,  _pay attention_  this time.”  
  
Dongsun goes through the first half minute of the routine again and Minho realizes, watching him, that he’s indeed messed up more than just once on several moves. When Dongsun halts, the music still playing, Minho bites his lip and marks the steps in his mind, trying to remember everything he’d missed before.  
  
The music starts again, and this time Minho looks slightly more competent while dancing through it but his attempt is still not his usual skill. Dongsun continues to look displeased by him but Minho can’t help it.   
  
His mind, admittedly, is not completely focused on the choreography. Every so often, his thoughts stray away from the music and dance moves to instead the little boy lying lonely in the locker room several feet away. He can’t help but think about Taemin and how he’s feeling; probably thinking Minho’s left him again. The thought causes something to tighten in his chest, suddenly worried that Taemin may be doing something stupid, that Taemin could be crying in the locker room, because Minho left him alone again after promising not to.  
  
This time at the end of the dance he slips again but actually falls heavily on his side, banging his elbow hard against the floor. He groans in pain and grabs his arm, knowing it’s probably going to bruise over. Despite the pain though, he quickly scrambles back to his feet, trying to play the injury off.   
  
“ _Shit_ ,” Dongsun exclaims, immediately shutting the music off. “Tell me your arm feels okay, Minho, shit!”  
  
Minho brushes him away, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine, alright? Just—turn the music on again and keeping going. Teach me the rest of routine so I can at least practice it on my own.” Dongsun looks at him with the same concern, though his face has adopted a look of exasperation as Minho insists on going on.  
  
Finally, he sighs, relenting and moving back to the music player to turn it on. “Fine,” he says moving back to the front. “Next, you have to lean down and...”  
  


\- - -

  
  
By the time his choreographer leaves, a good twenty-five minutes later, Minho feels even worse. He collapses, exhausted. His limbs feel boneless and heavy, chest heaving and head pounding in time to the music he hadn’t bothered switching off.  
  
 _There must be something seriously wrong,_  he thinks to himself.  _I’ve never gotten winded this easily._  He’s never tired himself out so soon either. He wonders if his lethargy has anything to do with worrying over Taemin for so long, for getting such a fitful, uncomfortable sleep the night before.  
  
Thinking of Taemin, his eyes snap open and he suddenly sits up, back aching and joints cracking as he does so. He stumbles back to his feet and rushes as quickly as possible with his sore muscles back to the locker room, throwing the door open.  
  
Taemin is still lying on the bench, eyes closed and chest rising peacefully in slumber. Minho releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, suddenly so relieved to see Taemin again.  
  
Unaware of anything else but the little merboy, he makes his way to Taemin’s sleeping form, shaking him gently awake.  
  
“Taemin, Taemin-ah,” he whispers. He watches Taemin slowly open his eyes, rubbing a hand across his face as he sits up tiredly and yawns.   
  
“Meen-ho?” Taemin’s voice is soft, arms wrapping around Minho’s waist as he buries his face into Minho’s hip. The taller boy holds him close without thinking about it, simply wanting to be as near as possible to him. A minute passes and he nudges Taemin to stand, though they remain locked in their embrace even after Taemin is back on his feet.   
  
After a moment, he tips the smaller boy’s chin back with a steady finger, holding him still. Taemin peers up at him curiously. When his tongue peeks out to lick his lips, Minho’s eyes are drawn to the movement, unable to suppress the urge to kiss him again.  
  
This time the kiss is tender; their mouths moving together like strangers meeting for the first time. Taemin’s inexperience is obvious but intoxicating in the way he hesitates against Minho’s lips, savoring every gentle touch and taste.  
  
When Minho pulls away after a moment, Taemin’s scent lingering poignantly on his tongue, he breathes in and smiles down at Taemin, feeling unexpectedly wistful.  
  
“Come on,” he says, stepping away. “You can watch me try to dance.”  
  


\- - -

  
  
Taemin retains the innocent curiosity of a child as he sits in the back and watches Minho go through the routine. What’s strange is that this time Minho does the whole thing almost effortlessly, as though the mere presence of Taemin is enough to make him feel better.  
  
He can’t help but watch Taemin in the mirror every so often, feeling his heart pound from his enthralled gaze alone. If anyone from the company saw them, Minho would get hell for allowing someone to watch his choreo, on the off chance Taemin could be trying to steal the routine, but as it is, Minho has no worry of that happening.   
  
At some point, Taemin starts to clap in time to the beat of the music and Minho finds it inspiring. Taemin enjoying his performance, for reasons he can’t explain, makes him feel even more confident than before. He pushes himself to dance harder, throwing everything into each move.   
  
When the music ends, Minho is left standing in his last pose, breathing hard and limbs aching pleasantly. Taemin stands and runs to him, not caring that Minho is a sweating mess as he throws his arms around his waist and laughs into his neck. Minho can’t distinguish what Taemin is saying but doesn’t really mind, turning slightly to bring Taemin to his front.  
  
The next track starts up, this time a gentle ballad. Minho’s hands fall to Taemin’s waist, holding their hips together. Taemin looks up questioningly but Minho shushes him with a finger against his lips.  
  
“We’ll dance, yes?”  
  
“Day-su?”  
  
The taller boy laughs, smile splitting his face. “ _Dance_ , Taemin—We’ll dance.” Taemin tries the word again, this time pronouncing it more clearly. He looks satisfied by his attempt, nodding his head before following Minho’s example in moving his hips and slinging his arms around Minho’s neck.  
  
They don’t really dance so much as sway back and forth to the music but Minho finds it relaxing all the same, hugging Taemin close to him and breathing in his unique scent. His hands cradle Taemin’s form as if he’s made of fine porcelain, the soft planes of his body fitting perfectly against the hard contours of Minho’s own.  
  
Taemin is brushing the anxiety from before completely away, leaving Minho a pliant mess. The song ends too soon, the room falling completely silent since it was the last track, but Minho and Taemin continue to move together, unmindful of the silence when all they need is the rhythm of their hearts meshing to spur them on.

**TBC**


	9. Mistakes

Minho pulls away abruptly when the door opens. Of course—his manager.  
  
“Minho, get ready, the van leaves soon for the radio interview,” he says. His eyes sweep once over Taemin, who’s standing beside Minho staring at the floor. “I assume he’s coming too?” Minho only nods in answer. “Fine, get changed quickly, the car should be here in ten. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”  
  
When the door closes with a gentle  _click_ , Minho takes a second to gather his thoughts together. He thinks he must be crazy for letting Taemin come with him to the studio. For one thing he’ll have nowhere to be but sit outside in the waiting area, where any overly curious soul could accost him and that would only lead to a lot of trouble on Minho’s part. He could possibly sit in on the interview but then what would he do if whoever was interviewing him decided to include Taemin in the questions? Taemin may be smart, but Minho doubted he could learn an entire language in the span of a half hour.   
  
Anxiety begins to grow in the pit of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until Taemin’s hand slips into his and the boy leans against him, looking up at him in a gentle gaze. “Minho?” he questions. His breath is warm against Minho’s shoulder, his sweaty skin tingling in the places where Taemin has himself pressed against him.  
  
He inhales deeply before letting out his breath. As he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off an oncoming headache, he squeezes Taemin’s fingers in his hand once before letting him go.  
  
“Alright, come on. I need a quick shower before we go to the station.” He doesn’t wait for Taemin to follow, expecting him to do so as he makes his way back to the locker room.  
  


\- - -

  
  
Minho needs to follow his instincts more often. From the moment he and Taemin climb into the studio van, things are already going downhill.  
  
“Ah jeez, you have to be kidding me.”  
  
“Minho! It’s been forever—where’ve you been hiding?!” Jonghyun. Kim Jonghyun. The same Jonghyun whom Minho  _knows_  he asked his manager to switch his driver from. Young, obnoxious, and louder than a faulty blowhorn—there was a reason Minho preferred his new driver.  
  
“Hiding from you,” he mutters under his breath as he settles into his seat in the back. Jonghyun twists in his seat to get a better look at him. His eyes widen at the sight of Taemin, climbing in next to Minho and trying to scoot as closely to the singer as he can until Minho pushes him away firmly and buckles him in.  
  
“I’m gonna ignore that and just skip to my next question: who’s he?” he asks, this time flicking his thumb in the direction of Taemin.  
  
Taemin doesn’t seem to notice Jonghyun’s overbearing presence—which in Minho’s opinion is a feat in itself. The little merboy is busy fiddling with the seat belt, as though he hadn’t already worn one on the way to the studio building in the first place.   
  
“No one, now start driving before I’m late. I’ll be sure to blame you if I get bitched at for being late again.”  
  
Anyone else would have looked properly chastised and understandably miffed at having been spoken to in such a way, but Jonghyun simply shrugs, infectious smile still in place. “Yeah, yeah, calm your tits, I’ll get you to the studio on time.”  
  
He turns back to the front and starts the car, switching the radio on before backing out of the space and into the traffic.  
  
“So seriously, who’s the kid? You adding ‘babysitter’ to your list of superpowers?”  
  
“Like I said, he’s no one.”  
  
“Uh huh, and I suppose No One here doesn’t mind you acting like an asshole around him?” Before Minho can respond, Taemin grabs his arm, jerking his hand to the buckle and looking at him with a peculiar look of desperation on his face. When Minho simply shakes his hold off, Taemin doesn’t hesitate to grab his arm again in a fierce grip and shake his arm.  
  
“ _Stop that_ ,” he hisses, trying to jerk away.  
  
“Minho!”  
  
“Aw, he sounds so desperate when he says your name like that—”  
  
“ _Minho_ —”  
  
“Stop—”  
  
“Answer the kid—”  
  
“Stop!” Sudden silence descends in the van, only the sounds of the van and the outside traffic shifting through the abrupt stillness inside. “You,” he says directly to Jonghyun, “shut up and drive, stop asking me useless questions, and  _you,_ ” this time he looks at Taemin, who’s shrinking back into his seat, “be quiet and sit still. We’ll be there soon.”  
  
Taemin looks angry. No, not angry,  _miffed_ , exactly the way Jonghyun probably feels as well, if his sudden snort and reigning silence is anything to go by. They both ignore Minho after his outburst, his driver watching the road in stony silence while Taemin sits rigidly and stares out the window.   
  
Minho sighs and rubs his hand through his hair, feeling frustrated and just a smidge guilty for blowing up like that, but he’s not about to apologize. It’s not like he  _tries_  to act like an asshole, but there’s only so long his patience can hold out before he’ll…well, explode.  
  
The remainder of the car ride is dead silent and Minho doesn’t know whether to feel thankful or just guilty, settling on a mixture of the two. When Jonghyun stops outside the radio station, he doesn’t bother getting out and opening the door for Minho like he’s paid to do. Minho doesn’t bother hiding his eyeroll at the older boy’s spite.   
  
He leans over Taemin to unlock the door and slide it open, then reaches back and unbuckles Taemin’s seatbelt. Taemin doesn’t say anything as he pushes Minho away and stumbles out of the van.  
  
“I suppose you’ll be picking me up?” Minho asks, hesitating in the doorway of the van.  
  
“Unfortunately.”  
  
“Jonghyun—”  
  
“Just get out before you’re late.” It takes a lot to make Jonghyun annoyed and Minho realizes he’s done that _and_  annoyed his little merboy follower as well.  
  
 _Congratulations to me_ , he thinks sullenly, closing the door and leading Taemin into the building.  
  


\- - -

  
  
Minho doesn’t care that Taemin is fidgeting at his side and trying to tug his hand out of the singer’s grasp. He holds firmly to Taemin’s hand and leads him down various hallways, greeting workers and other musicians as he goes. Some give Taemin odd, curious looks but Taemin ignores them all. When Minho looks to his side, it’s too see Taemin staring resolutely at the ground and shuffling along. Minho ignores the pang of guilt he feels at the sight.  
  
He expects the show to go smoothly for the most part. With Eeteuk and Eunhyuk being the ones interviewing him, he knows the interview itself shouldn’t be too much of a problem, especially considering he’s been on their show multiple times already. As he stands in the waiting room behind the glass window looking into the studio where the two hosts are already going over lines and jokes, Minho sits Taemin down on one of the cushioned seats pushed against the wall where viewers can sit to watch the show.   
  
One of the crew members approaches them, clipboard in hand, a pen tucked behind his ear. He gives a sheet full of expected questions to Minho before leaving him alone again, telling him he has about twenty minutes before the show goes on air. After he leaves, Minho takes a seat beside Taemin and peruses the sheet in his hand silently.  
  
“Minho?” comes a hesitant voice after moment. He looks up. Taemin has his feet on the ground, one foot shaking in what Minho recognizes to be a nervous gesture.  
  
“What’s wrong Taemin-ah?” he asks, looking back at the schedule.  
  
“Sorry?” Taemin apologizes but it’s more a question than a statement. Minho’s eyes freeze on the page, back stiffening.   
  
He wishes Taemin wasn’t like this, wonders  _why_  Taemin is like this. Why does he apologize to Minho every time the singer acts like a jerk to him, as if he feels it’s  _his_  fault for angering the older boy?  
  
 _Because that’s how you make him feel,_  Minho chides himself. He bites his lip in contemplation, refusing to meet Taemin’s eyes.  
  
“Don’t apologize Taemin,” he says quietly.  
  
“Don’t?” He shakes his head. Taemin’s hand suddenly finds its way onto Minho’s thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through Minho’s jeans and searing his skin. “Taemin sorry.”  
  
“Taemin  _is_  sorry,” he mutters.  
  
He can almost imagine the concentrated, somewhat confused look on Taemin’s face as he repeats quietly, “Taemin  _is_  sorry,” emphasis included. He sighs. Maybe Taemin is in his life for no other reason to make him feel guilty; maybe the God he doesn’t believe in wants him to start acting nicer or something equally crazy.  
  
“Don’t be sorry. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” Taemin’s head falls onto his shoulder, hair tickling his exposed neck. Minho ignores the tingle he feels where Taemin’s body is in contact with his. In the ensuing few minutes of silence, Minho takes the time to finish looking over the schedule. He’s glad the show is closed for once, no intrusive fans allowed inside to watch. It gives him an easy solution of where to leave Taemin during the recording.  
  
Before long, another crew member calls Minho and tells him to go inside. He takes a deep breath and gently pushes Taemin away from him.  
  
“Hey, I have to go now, but I’ll be back. Taemin stay, right?” Taemin doesn’t look at him, staring at his feet. Minho sighs again.   
  
He doesn’t give himself time to think about the repercussions of what he’s about to do as he slides off the seat and bends down in front of Taemin. The paper in his right hand, he cups Taemin’s cheek in his left and forces him to look up. He looks startled and weary when his eyes meet Minho’s and Minho  _hates_  it, that look of resignation.  
  
“Stop sulking,” he demands, voice harsh. “I’ll be  _back_. And then you can cry and stomp and huff around all you want, but for now, you just have to sit here for the next 40 minutes and wait for me.  _Wait. For. Minho_ ,” he stresses. Taemin’s lips quiver. Minho can see him trembling in his seat and wonders for a moment if he’d been too harsh.  _I can’t do anything right by him today_ , he thinks to himself.   
  
His thumb tenderly strokes Taemin’s bottom lip, feeling the soft fullness of his lip beneath the pad of his finger. Taemin’s tongue peeks out and when the edge of his tongue grazes Minho’s thumb, a rush of something Minho’s refuses to put a name to washes over him. He breathes out, trying to ignore the feelings.  
  
“Wait for me. Don’t be sad.” Taemin offers him an appeasing smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. “Taemin wait for Minho.” Finally satisfied Taemin isn’t going to do something stupid like run off, Minho stands and ruffles Taemin’s hair. He makes his way to the studio door calmly, forcing himself to not look back at Taemin and see the morose look in his eyes.  
  
The show, of course, goes as smoothly as expected. They laugh and joke and Minho reveals embarrassing stories from his childhood and not so secret secrets about being a famous idol. The atmosphere is light and cheerful and Minho can’t help but feel his nerves calm down, being so relaxed. Eeteuk and Eunhyuk have that effect on their guests though, and Minho knows this, so he supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised.  
  
Despite all that though, he can’t get completely comfortable because he can still feel Taemin’s eyes on him, watching him through the glass. He remains firm and doesn’t look back once in the 40 minutes on air but it’s a challenge. Sometimes he’ll brush his hair back and think of combing Taemin’s hair that morning. He’ll talk about hours of dance practice and think about dancing with Taemin in the studio. He’ll talk about his ‘ideal type’ and catch himself fantasizing about kissing Taemin again.  
  
It’s frustrating as hell, to say the least.  
  
Luckily, the show runs without a hitch and before he knows it, Minho finds the interview coming to a close. Eunhyuk plays a final song and switches the broadcast to off air, playing prerecorded music for the next hour until the next show is scheduled to start. They take their headphones off and Minho bows politely, thanking them and wishing them well before stepping out through the door back into the waiting room where Taemin is.  
  
He’s curled up with his legs tucked to his chest, chin on his knees and arms around his calves. When the door opens, his head shoots up and he gives Minho an initial look of pure relief at him coming back, before the look just as quickly disappears and he gazes at Minho wearily again.  
  
Minho’s getting pretty good at ignoring such looks though, telling himself not to get affected by them. He swallows once and licks his lips before beckoning Taemin to him. Slowly, Taemin unfurls himself and stands, almost automatically taking Minho’s hand that’s already outstretched and waiting for him.  
  
Minho waves goodbye to the radio show hosts still inside the recording room, before turning to Taemin and offering him a smile.   
  
“See? Told you I’d be back,” he says jokingly.   
  
“Minho come back,” Taemin mumbles, staring at the ground again. Minho thinks he looks like a kicked puppy. The description isn’t that off. He leads Taemin back down through the same hallways, greeting more people but only halfheartedly waving to them. When they get to the lobby, Taemin’s fingers tighten momentarily around his hand before letting go and Minho doesn’t try to stop him when Taemin releases his hold.  
  
They walk in silence back to Jonghyun’s van, parked in the street waiting for them. Minho can’t say he’s surprised when Jonghyun refuses to open the door for them. He slides the van door open himself and ushers Taemin inside first, following behind.  
  
When they’re seated and Minho has Taemin buckled in, this time thankfully with no fuss, Minho turns back to the front to address Jonghyun.   
  
“Manager-shi said lunch, then back to the recording studio,” he states.  
  
“Sure thing boss,” Jonghyun says. Minho resists the urge to roll his eyes, settling instead on taking Taemin’s hand in his. Taemin doesn’t protest but his fingers are limp and he lets Minho lace their fingers together and hold them in his lap. It’s not the warmest they’ve treated each other, but it’s better than nothing, he tries to tell himself—not really believing the thought even in his own mind.

 

**TBC**


	10. Lies

“So, where to for lunch, kid?” Jonghyun asks after pulling away from the curb. Minho scowls at the condescending term, fingers tightening momentarily around Taemin’s as he answers, “You’re not that much older than me,  _hyung_.”  
  
“Who said I was talking to you? I’d have addressed you as something more fitting, like jackass, if I were. Hey kid, where you wanna go for lunch?”  
  
“Asshole,” Minho mutters. He looks at Taemin to see him staring at his feet, long hair falling over one shoulder in a curtain of soft, chestnut colors. Without thinking, Minho brushes a few strands of hair behind his ear, feeling slight tingles of pleasure when he touches the smooth shell of Taemin’s ear.  
  
“Kid?”  
  
“Forget it, we’ll just eat in the cafeteria at the studio.”  
  
“Hey kiddo, you alive back there?”  
  
“Stop calling him ‘kid!’” Minho gripes.  
  
Jonghyun doesn’t sound bothered in the least as he retorts, “Yeah well how ‘bout one of you tell me his real name and I will.” Everyone falls silent at that, not that Taemin had been eager to speak anyway. The drive back doesn’t feel quite as awkward as the drive there had felt, but Minho finds himself fidgeting uncomfortably anyway, wanting to get back to the studio soon.  
  
When Jonghyun finally pulls up into the adjoining parking garage, once again making no move to open the door for him, Minho rolls his eyes and hurries to unbuckle Taemin’s seatbelt. Taemin is still looking down, a pained, saturnine expression gracing his features. Minho lets the seatbelt slide back and only when he leans over the smaller boy to throw the door open does he finally look up.  
  
“Thanks for the ride,” Minho says, not sounding thankful in the least.  
  
“No problem-o jackass—and that time I was talking to  _you_ ,” Jonghyun answers pointedly. Minho slams the van door closed with a sharp bang. He takes Taemin’s hand in his and leads him back into the studio building.  
  
The halls they walk through are bright and airy, footsteps echoing on the grey linoleum. Several other performers, managers, and trainees pass them by, all recognizing Minho instantly and giving him nods or polite greetings. Minho keeps a calm look on his face the entire time, ignoring anyone who sends him a slightly longer look of questioning, staring at Taemin and asking tacitly who the boy is.  
  
When they’re back in the elevator, Minho presses the button for the third floor, where the cafeteria is. The entire time Taemin is silent.  
  
If Minho had to describe Taemin in one word, it would be subdued. Gone is the little boy who’d splashed water and shampoo on him last night—had it really only been last night?—and the endearing, squealing merboy who’d floundered onto the deck of his boat all those weeks ago. In his wake is this silent, perhaps slightly brooding, sullen boy instead. Minho would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him, at the very least worry him a little, but he figures maybe Taemin is just tired. Once they’re back in his apartment, Taemin will have his complete, undivided attention and have no more reason to act so downtrodden.  
  
As they step out of the elevator, Minho still clutching Taemin’s tiny fingers in his hand, he can’t help but feel out of sorts. He’s never had to babysit someone, or had to take care of anyone like this. He’d grown up as an only child after his older brother moved out, had worked on his own in school, honed his skills alone, tried out and debuted as a solo artist. His whole life, it had only just been  _him_ , Choi Minho—no lasting relationships aside from those with his parents and brother and manager, and only a string of one night stands when he needed some physical intimacy. Suddenly being responsible for someone with the naiveté and innocence of a 10-year-old, and with the communication skills of a dog—or in this case a fish—was more than beyond his capabilities. At least, that was how it seemed.  
  
The cafeteria is bustling with noise and chatter, the clanging of plastic trays and talking artists reaching Minho’s ears. He feels Taemin’s grip on his hand tighten, feels the tension in the little shoulders as Taemin presses himself against Minho’s side. Taemin really hates crowds and Minho, being the only one Taemin is comfortable around, has it on his shoulders to try to make him feel a little more comfortable in the busy atmosphere.  
  
Releasing Taemin’s hand, Minho instead slings his arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The smells of all the different food has his stomach rumbling and that’s when he realizes he hasn’t eaten since the day before. Leading Taemin to one of the lines, he grabs two metal trays to get them food.  
  
There’s an uneasy stirring in his stomach as Minho begins to put bowls of food on both trays. He really hopes Taemin likes what he’s getting—not that he knows what kind of food Taemin would like at all, though he considered the possibility Taemin just ate fish when he was in his home in the lake. Or maybe he wouldn’t—would that be considered a little cannibalistic?  
  
He eyes the bowl of fish and noodles he just placed on Taemin’s tray, considering. Maybe he should just stick to the fried chicken? Or stay away from meat entirely?  
  
“Taemin? Taemin-ah?” He pokes Taemin’s shoulder to get his attention. Taemin’s head spins to look at Minho and Minho briefly wonders what Taemin had been looking at before shaking his head, deciding he doesn’t really care. “Do you eat fish?” he asks.  
  
Taemin cocks his head to the side, clearly having no idea what he’s talking about. “Fish?” he asks again, pointing to the bowl of noodles on the tray. Taemin looks down to where he’s pointing. His cheeks puff out slightly and without warning he drops his face to mere inches away from the bowl, sniffing almost audibly at the food.  
  
“Fish?” he asks, rolling the word within his mouth. Minho nods. For a second he thinks Taemin really understands him—until he shrugs uncaringly and once more turns around.  
  
With a sigh, Minho calls his name again, telling him to follow him as Minho gathers a few more things on their trays and heads to pay.  
  


♦ ♦ ♦

  
  
Minho comes to two conclusions as he and Taemin sit at an empty, mostly secluded table in the far corner of the cafeteria. One—he really,  _really_  sucks at this ‘taking care of a merboy’ thing and two—he is never having kids. Especially if they’re like Taemin. Minho was not born with enough patience to handle someone like Taemin again.  
  
“Taemin-ah,  _stop_!” he hisses, grabbing the single chopstick Taemin had been spearing his fried chicken with. Maybe Minho had been too ambitious when he’d added the chopsticks to the tray but really, he’d piled on enough finger food and soup for their meal that Taemin needn’t have bothered with them in the first place. Evidently, Taemin is too curious and adventurous for his own good.  
  
It’s as though the sullen, subdued Taemin never existed. Taemin sits beside him with a look of quiet enrapture in his eyes, an excited gleam on his face as he pokes and prods the different foods on his tray before him. He’s already nibbled a little on everything there and is now in the midst of experimenting some more.  
  
The noodles and fish hadn’t been a problem at all. Taemin didn’t seem to care or maybe he just didn’t realize that he was eating fish and seemed to like it well enough. The little Styrofoam bowl of kimchi had been finished off quickly and now Taemin is approaching what appears to be his most ambitious endeavor—fried chicken.  
  
After taking the chopsticks away, Minho uses his fingers and tears strips of meat off the chicken bone, making it even easier for Taemin to eat. When his hands move back, Taemin grabs one strip and doesn’t hesitate to put it in his mouth, chewing obscenely with his mouth open and letting crumbs of chewed food fall out of his mouth. Minho cringes at the sight.  
  
“I really need to teach you some manners,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing a napkin and leaning across the table to wipe Taemin’s mouth with. Taemin abruptly stops chewing, swallowing the bite in his mouth as he stares at Minho leaning toward him. Their gazes lock. Minho finds himself mesmerized by the freckles on Taemin’s cheeks—how had he never noticed them before?  
  
And then Minho blinks and pulls back, embarrassed for having done that when they were in public. He points to the rest of the food and tells Taemin to finish eating, which he does with the same gusto as before, making a mess of himself and the table.  
  


♦ ♦ ♦

  
  
A little past 1, Minho and Taemin find themselves in the recording station. Minho has been dreading this the most of the entire day, mainly because he would spend the most time in the station and because it was going to get really boring for Taemin. Taemin, with the attention span of a four year old.  
  
“Taemin, stay right here, okay?” Minho holds Taemin’s shoulders as he pushes him down onto the couch. Taemin goes willingly enough but he yawns widely and shrugs Minho’s hands off as he arranges himself comfortably on the couch. He lies on his side with his head cradled on his arm, looking up at Minho with sleepy eyes. Minho swallows thickly. “I’ll come back soon,” he says, just as he  _always_  says.  
  
Taemin nods, closing his eyes. “Come back soon.”  
  
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. One minute he’s standing, staring down at the tired boy who’d wormed his way into his life. Next thing he knows, Minho is bending down, crouching on his knees. He spares a look around the tiny waiting room behind the recording room and when he feels safe no one is around to see, leans in closely and tangles his hand in Taemin’s long hair. His fingers play with the silky soft chestnut strands, huffing warm breath across Taemin’s face.  
  
“Minho?” Taemin’s voice is nothing more than a whisper, soft and hesitant, questioning. Minho has no idea what he’s doing and yet doesn’t stop to think about his actions. So gently the touch is barely there, he brushes his lips across Taemin’s brow, smoothing away tendrils of loose hair. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmurs. His face is inches from Taemin’s, both staring into each other’s eyes and unable to look away. “Because I have no idea what I’m doing when I’m with you.”  
  
“Minho—”  
  
“Shh,” Minho interrupts. His hand slides down Taemin’s face, cupping his cheek and tenderly stroking his thumb across the high cheekbone. He lets his forehead drop down against Taemin’s and closes his eyes. It’s so rare that Minho finds moments like this, pure and calm, as if there’s not a single thing he needs to worry about. If he were honest, he would admit that he’s been feeling these things a lot more ever since Taemin swam into his life.  
  
“Minho,” Taemin tries to say again, this time even more softly than before. Minho feels a slight tremor of embarrassment as realizes how vulnerable he is right then, right there with Taemin able to see his every emotion splay out across his face. He has no idea what Taemin is trying to say and wonders if he even cares. What can he really say anyway?  
  
“Why are you here with me?” he asks rhetorically. His head tilts down slightly and his lips manage to brush momentarily across Taemin’s before he pulls back.  
  
“Taemin sorry.” Minho freezes.  
  
His eyes snap open and he finds Taemin looking at him anxiously. “Taemin sorry. Minho don’t leave Taemin,” he pleads. A swell of emotion erupts in Minho’s chest. He has to stop himself from doing something really stupid, something he knows he’ll regret later. Why does he feel like this? Why does he feel this strange, empty feeling open inside him at just the thought of leaving Taemin alone?  
  
“I won’t leave you, Taemin.” he says, but it’s a  _lie_. It’s a lie because someday Minho will  _have_  to leave him. Taemin is—hell, Minho has no idea what the boy is but he isn’t his, no matter what some crazy fortune teller says. Taemin doesn’t belong to him and dammit, Minho doesn’t need him as his responsibility.  
  
With that thought in mind, Minho abruptly tears himself away. That shattered look that Minho’s seen cross Taemin’s face so many times already only briefly flits across his features again before it disappears. In its place is a look of—dare he say it—understanding. Acceptance. Like Minho accepting the inevitability of their separation. Taemin feels it too, he supposes. It’s not like anything can ever happen between them and he feels better knowing they both, to some degree, accept that.

 

**TBC**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
